I am in a long hallway that has big windows on each side. These must be the natural history diorama displays, whatever that means.

There are more children here, and they’re running back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and not using their indoor voices. I also hear the same adult voice that I heard in the movable room. But a whole lot of people must have the same voice, because I hear her saying a whole bunch of different things all at the same time so that I can’t even make out the words.

Every time one voice goes quiet, one of the children runs up to the buttons that are by each window and slaps it, and the voice starts again. The children are so busy running and making the voices talk they don’t even notice me.

I finish eating my potato chip, then run to one window and look in.

On the other side of the window is a room smaller than the classrooms at school. In this room there’s the top part of a tree, even though I don’t see the bottom part. I can see sky behind the tree, but I can’t smell anything—probably because of the glass.

Now that I’m standing right in front of this room, I can hear the voice that goes with it. The voice is saying, “…their summers in the Arctic Circle, but they visit our part of the Northern Hemisphere in the winter. You are most likely to spot a snowy owl by the shoreline or in agricultural fields…”

Yikes! And in science museums! After noticing all those other things first, now I see that sitting on one of the branches is an owl! Owls eat squirrels! His wings are spread and I know that in a moment he will fling himself off the branch and into the air. Yes, there’s glass between us, but I haven’t had a chance to look closely.

This might be like the fish-tank room with Mars Rover in it that had no top.

There’s no time to look now.

I run.

I zig and zag among the children. The floor is slippery so that my feet move faster than my body and I go sliding and skidding around corners and into children.

These children didn’t see me before, but they see me now. Especially when I accidentally run into them. Some of them scream. I take this to mean that the owl is close.

There are many hallways branching away from the one I first saw. Each hallway is lined with more little glassed-in rooms that are diorama displays, with the voices talking.

There is no place to hide under.

A door opens, and security guards 1, 2, and 3 come through carrying their net, bin, and coat. I see stairs behind them, but the door closes before I get there.

Security Guard points at me and says, “There he is!”

I have never before met a person who is so determined to make me into a pet.

I think to myself, Better to be a pet than to be dinner.

But still I run into a group of children, so that their legs will hide me—from security guards and from the owl.

Ponytail throws her coat and captures one of the children.

Over the children’s squeals, I hear Bin Guy ask, “Where?”

And Security Guard answers, “By the snowy owl diorama.”

Double yikes! Somehow I have gotten twisted around and ended exactly back where I started.

And the owl is right there, fierce and ready to swoop and grab me up in his talons!

But…

That means he couldn’t have been chasing me.

Why is he exactly where he was before, in exactly the same eager-to-snack-on-Twitch pose?

I realize this owl is another model, a toy like T-Rex. Now I can see that even the sky isn’t real but is just a picture. What’s the matter with these museum people, having dinosaurs and lightning balls and owls where they can scare children?

The doors to the movable room open, and there are even more children in there than before, including the boy in the movable chair, but this time they are coming out. Should I run there?

The door to the stairs opens, but a whole bunch of children are coming that way, talking and laughing excitedly. Should I run there?

And another door opens, but there’s only one person standing in that doorway.

I decide that’s where I need to run.

“What’s going on here?” the museum worker who is standing alone asks. “What’s all the noise? Quiet, everybody! Children!” She claps her hands. “Indoor voices!”

She’s so busy trying to get the children quiet, she doesn’t even notice me running past her into the new room. And when Security Guard shouts, “He’s going in the staff lounge!” she only puts her finger to her lips and repeats, “Indoor voices.”

No diorama displays in here. And no people.

This room has lockers, like in the hallways at school, but not as many, and tables, like in the cafeteria at school, but not so many of those, either.

What there’s lots of is places to hide under.

But there’s also food on one of the tables. It’s been so incredibly long since I’ve eaten! I climb on the table, but by then I’m going so fast, I crash into somebody’s plate and glass, and then—zoom!—slide right off the other end.

Luckily the dish comes along with me, so I don’t have to climb back up the table. The dish had lots of veggies in it: lettuce and tomatoes and broccoli and radishes. And there’s cheese, too, and slices of hard-boiled egg, which is something people invented that makes my stomach sing with happiness. Without that egg, it would have been hard to choose. I cram some egg into my mouth, then run and hide under a bookcase.

I wonder if there are books about wolves in there.

I wonder if there are books about squirrels.

Probably, because people love squirrels.

People come running into the room: the museum worker who wanted the children to be quiet, the children (who have not gotten quiet), the teachers who were with the children, and security guards 1, 2, and 3—all pressing into the room.

“He’s got to be here somewhere,” Security Guard says, swinging his net in the air as though he thinks squirrels can fly. He accidentally hits Bin Guy on the head, making him drop his blue bin, which lands on Security Guard’s foot. Ponytail is looking for someplace to fling her coat.

People start shouting suggestions about where they think I might be hiding.

“Find him!”

“Check behind that couch!”

“Check inside that couch!”

“Move that coatrack!”

The boy in the movable chair is not shouting suggestions.

Maybe because his chair makes him closer to the ground than anybody else, he tips his head and looks under things.

He sees me under the bookcase. I will have to leave my hiding spot before I’ve even finished chewing my egg.

Except…

He does not tell anybody. He puts his finger to his lips in the same way the museum worker did to signal Quiet.

Of course I can be quiet. Squirrels are good at being quiet when they need to be.