Wandering Paw prints through the Mulberry Bush

1

Winter had taken hold of the wheat fields yesterday. The sky was absent of any colour; no blues swirling amongst the clouds to form a chunky soup, the sun, while having risen high above the clouds, did not cut through their grey blanket. A light breeze rolled over the wheat; gently swaying it too and fro.

The vast sea is interrupted only by a lonely dirt road; wide enough for a single car, and flanked by thick undergrowth of weeds and native bush. The road had seen very little traffic if any in its lifetime. Very few mammals would venture out this far from the city, and even fewer would travel along this road down to a single oak tree that erupted like a volcanic island amidst a golden sea. Still, while it was the road less travelled, it did not mean it was not travelled at all.

Yesterday the atmosphere was disturbed, if only momentarily, before returning to the subduing calm. The breeze continued swirling the wheat with its soft touch, but this time it carried the smell of rust.

If you were to ask any of the 27 million mammals living within Zootopia’s city limits where the oak tree lay, or how to get onto the small, isolated dirt road exactly 212 miles away, or 341.18093 kilometres for the rest of the world, they would be unable to help you. They would surely sputter, and their small little minds, being unable to come with an adequate answer, would come to question your sanity, and why a mammal would ever ask such an oddly specific question. ‘Is he insane?’ some would say, ‘Is this part of an experiment’ some with more coherent minds would ponder, and those who do not have the time of day to answer such insignificant questions would simply think ‘Fuck off’, masking their thoughts behind politeness. The latter I hold no aggression to I assure you, one cannot hesitate in such a bustling city.

Yes, when 27 million mammals are unable to answer a question, it is unlikely that any one of the thirty-one riding on this subway car with me would be able to. As I look around as the train rocks from side to side as it speeds along the subway, I notice that the variety of mammals sitting around me is a near-perfect sample of Zootopia’s population. About thirty of the mammals are prey, from sheep to a single elephant and only two of them are predators. I am one of them, the other being a Puma holding onto a rail by one of its looped grips with one paw and reading a folded newspaper with the other.

His fur was dull and grey, especially around his mussel although it looked so not from age, but from the strain of a hard life. He was wearing a plaid green suit with brown pants, a white coffee-stained shirt and a red tie. On his belt shining brightly in the sun was his badge on his right, and I presumed on his left was his holstered gun. While his eyes were down on the paper, an early morning edition by the look of it, his ears constantly swivelled on his head, pointing to every mammal within their arc; sometimes he would look up from the paper and around him, checking his surroundings. Looking at every mammal on the train except me.

I pondered what could have brought us together. Fate? I wonder if our paths will intertwine once more or part like the apple from its tree. The train emerged from the subway and pulled into an above ground station. As the train begun screeching to a halt the detective folded his paper under his arm and turned to the door. As soon as they slid open he was out, a passenger waiting for the train would have mistaken him for a chaeta. As my vision started becoming blocked by the swarm of mammals flooding into the train, I saw him signal a taxi and with the closing of the doors, he was gone.

As the train begun to pick up speed, I twiddled my thumbs thinking over what I needed to do. I tell you, my mind could have burst with all the things I needed to prepare; the mammals I needed to meet; the questions I needed to ask. I let out a deep sigh, resting the back of my head against the glass, the vibrating of the train as it sped over the tracks massaging my stressed brain as it started detailing my convoluted to-do list.

My attention was suddenly snatched when my nose and body reacted to new senses. I took in a deep sniff, deep enough to identify this delicious new smell but quiet enough not to draw unwanted attention. The smell came from a young impala that had just stepped onto the train; her perfume intoxicating, her shirt and low jeans outlining an immaculate figure. ‘What a ravishing doe’ I thought to myself as I allowed my mind to wander. Perhaps my work can wait, just for a bit of fun.