“What do you make of it?” Hunter asked.
“I’m not sure,” the raccoon said. “Humans are difficult to understand, even for me.”
They were staring at the newly erected fences that surrounded the junkyard. Working from first light until just before sunset, a group of humans with loud machines had torn down the old metal fence and put up a higher, more solid wooden fence around the whole yard.
“Do you think it is a good thing or a bad thing?” Hunter asked.
“It could be a good thing and a bad thing.”
“How could it be both?”
“It’s much more solid. There are no holes for dogs to get in.”
“That’s a very good thing,” Hunter said.
“But cats and the humans who feed you also use those same holes,” the raccoon said.
“And humans who might want to hurt us.”
“It sounds like you’re making my point—good and bad,” the raccoon said.
“I guess you might be right. But still, why would they change the fence around the junkyard?”
“Humans are hard to understand,” the raccoon said. “Maybe I should be asking you about them.”
“Why me?”
“I’m not the one who has been inside a car twice or had humans fix me when I’m injured. I’m not the one who tells humans what to do.”
Hunter moved in closer. “You know I can’t really do that, right? They don’t really do what I ask.”
“I know. The important thing is, how long do you think you can keep King convinced that you can?”
“I don’t know, but every day I do is a good day. I have him confused and worried.”
“You have all of us confused. Which is why I think I should ask you about humans,” the raccoon said. “Perhaps the student has become the teacher.”
“No,” Hunter said. “I’m not the teacher. I’ve learned so much from you or by watching humans and rats and even dogs. There’s so much to learn from animals.”
“And there’s so much the other cats could learn from you. You are going to be a very wise leader of the colony.”
“If King doesn’t rip me to shreds first.”
“Just so you know, if he ever harms you, he won’t live long enough to gloat,” the raccoon said.
Hunter gave him a questioning look.
“I still believe in goodwill and peace, but I can make one little exception. I’ll make sure it’s quick. Who knows, he might even come back as a higher life form,” said the raccoon.
“He has nowhere to go but up,” Hunter said. “But right now, I’m more worried about the new fence than I am about King.” He paused. “Should I be worried?”
“It’s hard to tell with humans. My guess is that the fence has nothing to do with the colony.”
“So we don’t have to worry.”
“Not necessarily. You have to understand, most of the time the humans don’t do anything deliberately to hurt us.”
“That’s good to know.”
“But remember, when a car runs over a cat, even though it’s not deliberate, the cat is still dead. Either way, I think you need to climb over to the other side of this fence.”
The raccoon scrambled up the fence, digging in his sharp claws, dropped over the side and disappeared. Hunter leaped up to the top of the fence.
“Why is one side different from the other?” he asked as he perched on the top.
“Because of what is on the outside of the fence. Come and look.”
Hunter jumped down. The outside of the fence was different. There were images on it—images of tall human dens.
“I’ve seen posters like that before. There’s one at the front gate where the man with the cloth on his head stays,” Hunter said.
“That poster is gone. These new ones are on all the fences, all the way around the junkyard.”
“Why do they do that, put pictures all over?” Hunter asked.
“Sometimes it means nothing,” the raccoon said.
“And other times?”
“Other times it means that what is in the picture will become real.”
“The junkyard could become…become…like that?”
“I don’t know. It could.”
“But there were pictures of their dens there before and nothing has ever happened,” Hunter said.
“Something did happen. The humans put up these new fences and new posters. They seldom do this much work unless it means something.”
Hunter looked up at the poster and then looked away. He couldn’t think about any of this right now. He already had too much on his mind.