"Come check this out," Karen shouted from the next aisle, reduced to a whisper by the screaming baby.

Sarah put back the pool noodle and walked over. Karen had thought shopping for toys for her children would be easier if she had a trusted friend along instead of listening to "Mom! Mom! I want that!" over and over, but the lack of items in her shopping cart said otherwise. "What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Some funny glasses."

The packaging looked like it had been designed, printed, and shipped in one day. The front was a solid blue, only decorated by 'Animal Glasses' at the top and a blurry kid wearing them at the bottom. The back had all the information that should have been on the front -- the company, what the glasses are supposed to do, the very tagline -- as well as some try-me holes. A few dozen pairs of the glasses were on the shelf. Who was letting their kids buy them?

Sarah pressed the holes against her face, careful not to let the plastic cut her. Through them, the shelves and floor had a brownish-tan tint, like they were made of wood instead of metal and tile. The white ceiling of the store was dark, and the LED lights were replaced by... candles? It was hard to tell; the glasses glared in the light, and the folded arms crossed through the center of her eyes.

"They're not anything special," Sarah said, turning toward Karen. "All they do is -- oh." Something brown and fuzzy crawled over the lenses. In place of Karen was a bear, standing on two legs, leaning on a wheelbarrow. Sarah blinked.

"What do you see?" asked Karen, the bear's mouth moving.

"Well..." Sarah handed her the glasses. Karen was Karen again. "I was wrong. Look for yourself."

Karen put them on and gazed around. "I guess they do work. The kids will love this!" She pointed at Sarah. "You look like a mouse!"

"Ha, ha. Let me see what I actually look like." She took the glasses. After one look at her arms, covered in gray hair and ending in pink hands, Sarah dropped the package, catching it with the other hand before it fell to the floor. Her heart pounded.

Karen laughed. "Something startle you?"

"Hey, it's not funny." Sarah's face warmed.

"You didn't deny it."

Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Of course I have to be a mouse..." Mice squeaked, ate whatever was on the floor, and spread disease. They were nasty creatures. She wasn't afraid, she just hated them so much that she never wanted to be within a mile of one.

Karen put two pairs of glasses in her cart. Sarah put another in. "I think I'm going to have a pair for myself," she said.

"Go ahead." She would just need to not look at herself or in any mirrors.

The baby started crying again. Sarah didn't realize he had stopped. "Does John still pretend to be a knight?"

"Yes. That's always been his favorite thing to do."

"Let's see if there's any foam swords or shields here."

They moved to the the aisle. The baby didn't seem to get any quieter.

---

Sarah drove around the parking lot, looking for an open spot. The beach was her place to relax, but lately, it was also everyone else's. Right when she was about to drive over the curb and make her own parking spot, a family got in the car closest to the steps down. Perfect! Sarah waited for them to back out, then parked her car. She got out and walked down the steps, bringing a towel, her keys, and the Animal Glasses with her. She didn't need her purse.

On the trail down, the beach was obscured by trees. When Sarah was a kid, they were proof that nature was beautiful. Now, she couldn't ignore the uneven stumps, bark carvings, and spray paint vandalizing their trunks and branches.

Sarah stumbled on the loose gravel at the bottom before escaping the trees and stepping onto sand. Everything about the beach was endless. The water faded into the horizon, bouncing as each wave passed by. To the left and right, the sand was a trail that led to lands unknown. And, most unfortunately, was the number of people. She had never seen so many people at this beach or any beach before. The sharp laughter and conversation of each group ground at her ears, made unignorable by the constant changing of volume. The fresh smell of the beach was polluted with alcohol and smoke. As Sarah searched around for a spot, she tried breathing through her mouth, but she could taste the scent.

Sarah flapped open her towel, spread it out on the sand, and sat down, claiming a spot for herself. A plastic bag drifted by. Sarah sighed, then put on the glasses. While they couldn't affect her nose and ears, they did all they could to please her eyes. The landscape itself was the same, but there were no bags, beer bottles, or other trash to be seen. The crowd of people was no longer vulgar and polluting the land, but was made of all sorts of upright animals dancing around and having a good time. Crow-people, rabbit-people, and lizard-people played volleyball. A tall eagle and penguin chatted away to the right. None of them had clothes on, but Sarah couldn't see any reason for them to. The world was peaceful, innocent. Sarah stared at the sky, picking out patterns and shapes to the clouds.

Something smacked the side of her head. She closed her eyes and fell onto her side. Her glasses slid off her face. "Sorry," someone shouted. A volleyball bounced on the sand.

"It's fine," Sarah shouted back. It wasn't. She rubbed the side of her head, then pushed herself up.

Crack!

Sarah moved her hand. Underneath was broken glass -- the remains of her glasses. And, her hand, it was pink, grubby, ugly; her arm was covered from wrist to sleeve in gray hair... "Eek!" She shot up. She rubbed at her arms, digging in to the hair with her hands. "Get it off!" Her nails dug in, scratching, scratching, scratching.

"Hey, hey," said someone else. "What seems to be bothering you, miss?"

Sarah couldn't get the hair off of her. It was on her legs, too. She looked like a mouse. Gross. Disease-ridden. Long hairs stuck out from the edge of her nose. Her front teeth felt too big for her mouth. "There's, there's, there's..." She tripped on her shoes and fell onto the sand. Someone rolled her over. Voices spoke above her.

"What's going on?"

"I hope she's okay."

"Get her up!"

Clouds swirled above Sarah. Her head was spinning. In and out, she breathed, in and out, but the sight of whiskers on her nose made her breathe faster. The people, the waves, her thoughts -- they were all so loud!

"Take my hand," someone said. Sarah grabbed the hand, the warm, fuzzy hand, and pulled herself up. Her helper wasn't a human -- he was a skunk, standing on two legs. His bushy tail covered his back.

"Wha?" said Sarah. She looked down at the broken glasses. She wasn't wearing them if they were on the ground. Oh, her legs... Something long and pink, like a worm, rested between her feet. Don't look, she thought. It's not a mouse. You're not a mouse. There is no mouse. She clenched her teeth.

"If you're not feeling well, I'll get some people to help you out. Did you ride a mount here?"

"I'm..." She looked at the skunk. He was still a skunk. The crowd of people was staring at her, two-legged animals, just like she saw through the glasses. Sarah's legs felt weak, and she almost fell. "I don't think I'm fine. I'm..." She swallowed. "I'm think I'm seeing things."

"What are you seeing?" asked someone who looked like a goat.

"I look like a mouse!" Sarah gasped and caught her breath. The wind screamed in her ears. "And, and, everyone else is an animal too; you're a skunk, and you're a goat, and over there is an eagle, but they look like people, and standing on two feet, and--"

"You must have not been feeling well to begin with," said the goat. "You're wearing clothes. Sick?"

"No..." Her clothes were strangely baggy, flapping in the wind. "I always wear clothes. Everyone does. People wear clothes," she said, more to convince herself she was sane than to dispute him.

"Hmm. Tell me, miss: if you and we aren't what we are, what are we supposed to be?"

"Humans?" Sarah ran a hand -- an icky, pink hand -- through the top of her head. She brushed against her ears. They stuck out.

"Let me help you home," said the skunk. "You need rest and some warm soup. Humans don't exist."

"Bring her to the water first," said the goat. "It'll help her accept who she is if she's having trouble."

The goat and the skunk wrapped their arms around Sarah's back and let her to the water, the waves, lapping against the shore. She was going insane. They should be keeping their distance from her. That's how people were. Why were they helping her? Why...

She had been at the store, dropped Karen off, went home, ate, came here, broke the glasses, and now her eyes were the glasses. She wasn't dreaming; she could recall how she got here.

The waves calmed and flattened as Sarah approached, like they were waiting for her. When her feet reached the edge, almost tripping in their roomy soles, she looked at her reflection.

A mouse. Big teeth. Gray ears. Gray fur. Pink hands. Whiskers. All for chattering, skittering, spreading disease... She watched her teeth grind together. She moved one of her arms out, forcing herself to look at it in the water, and waved it left and right. Her reflection followed her. It was her. She really was a mouse, a rat, a rodent. She wanted to scream, needed to scream, but if her screaming was squeaking... "I really am a rat," Sarah admitted. She locked her eyes on the horizon.

"If you're not sick, take your clothes off," someone else said in the sea of fur and scales and feathers. "Maybe the heat is getting to you."

Sarah shook her head.

"Did you walk here, or did you ride a mount?" repeated the skunk.

"I can walk on my own," Sarah said. "I took a," she began, pulling her car key out of her pocket, but instead pulling out a whistle, "mount?"

"Hope you feel better," said the goat. "If you don't get better soon, go to the hospital on Fiftieth and Canine." There was a hospital on Fiftieth Street, but on Cane Road, not Canine Road. Where was Canine Road?

"Thank you," she replied, dumbfounded. She rolled up her towel and made her way to the base of the trail. The dirt trail. It was the same shape as the the trail she went down to get here, the same trail she had known her whole life, but it was made of dirt instead of gravel. The trees, however, were gorgeous. The spray paint and carvings were gone, the leaves and grass were greener, brighter, darker, and the browns of the tree bark were deeper. Sounds of squirrels, birds, and other critters filled Sarah's ears.

The trail ended in a field instead of a parking lot. Wooden poles were planted in the ground, with large beasts tied to them by their muzzles. Riding a horse or donkey was one thing, but Sarah had never heard of anyone riding wolves, alligators, or even tigers.

Sarah tied the waistband of her pants to prevent them from falling down. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her hands, but she kept focus on tying. Her tail, her rodent's tail, was uncomfortable both sticking out and stuffed down her pants, so she gave in and poked a hole for it to go through. If the world ever went back to normal, she could sew the hole shut.

Sarah pulled the whistle out of her pocket and brought it to her mouth. She didn't have lips to close around it, so when she blew into it, most of the air went out the sides of her mouth, and the whistle gave a dying croak. She stuck it over one of her nostrils, but before she exhaled, she ran a finger down her whiskers. They were actually kind of... cute? Whenever she bent one too much, her nose twitched it back into position. That wasn't cute; it was horrifying, one step away from sniffing for people's leavings.

She plugged her other nostril and gave a sharp exhale. Chirp! Sarah winced at the noise. It didn't just pierce her ears; it tried to crack her skull apart. However, only one of the animals responded to it, a tiger. It turned to look at her as much as his ropes allowed. Sarah lightened her steps as she approached. In this world, the tiger would have known her for years, but startling such a beast wouldn't end well. As she undid the ropes holding him to the post, she realized there wasn't a saddle for her to sit on, which she fixed with her towel. There also wasn't a collar, so she couldn't find out what his name was. When the tiger's head was free, he shook his head a few times, but otherwise remained still.

Sarah couldn't hop onto his back. She was too short. He must have sensed her frustration because he stretched out and rested his belly on the ground. She pulled herself up, curling her toes away so her claws didn't gouge his side. She didn't want to know how long they were. "Thank you," she said, patting the tiger's back. He stood up and backed away from the post. Sarah bent over forward to keep her balance, then grabbed the dangling ropes from his head. She hoped controlling him was the same as with a horse.

Wait. Where was her purse? Where were her phone and wallet? They weren't hiding behind the wooden post, and they weren't lying anywhere nearby. If someone had taken them, they wouldn't have taken the maps, gloves, gum, and everything else she had kept in her car. All she could do was hope they were somewhere safe, but since technology appeared to have gone backwards, they probably didn't exist anymore.

She rode her tiger out of the lot.

---

When Sarah rode down the wide street-trail to her house, flanked by rows of tall torches that took the place of streetlamps, she realized she had no idea where she was going to park her tiger. There weren't any animals out on the sides of the trail, and she didn't hear any neighing or whining or growling. She didn't even have a front driveway to ride up, so she brought the tiger through the front lawn and around the side of the house, passing by a brick chimney that wasn't there before.

Oh. That was simple. Her garage was now a stable. Sarah dismounted in front of it and hopped off. The tiger circled around her.

The stable was a wooden rectangular structure with three walls and a roof. Its floor was covered in thatch and certainly smelled like thatch. There wasn't a door or any interior walls, but there were shelves lining the sides. A trough sat beside the far wall with a burlap bag of food resting against it. The only measure to keep anyone out or the tiger in was a long rope crossing the missing wall.

"Ah!" Sarah hopped forward and hugged her tail. The tiger had stepped on it. She had to be careful with her tail. Regardless of how it looked, it was hers.

Sarah went inside the stable, crossing under the rope. "By me!" she called, wishing she knew the tiger's name. It didn't come, so she pulled out the whistle and blew it. That got his attention. Sarah held the rope up so he could come inside.

She didn't want to tie the tiger's muzzle to the stable; she herself would go restless if she had to be confined, unable to move more than a step or two in any direction, for even five minutes. After seeing that the trough was already full, she left and went inside the house, glad to get away from the farm scent.

The inside of her house had been redecorated. Tile floor and carpet were both wood, and the lights were gone, replaced with wall-mounted candles. Her wallpaper was the same. However, the oven in the kitchen was a fire-powered stove.

"Hmm?" Crackling came from the living room. As she walked closer, the air grew warmer. There was a fireplace built into the wall, filled with logs that were busy burning away despite nobody having been in the house. Her house could have burned down! Why was it even on... Oh. She had left the heater on when she left, so this was the new heater.

Sarah plopped down on the couch, tail hanging off the edge, and felt underneath. She brought her tablet out. She wasn't sure what she expected it to be -- maybe a stone tablet? However, the buttons were all missing. She turned it over and over in her hands, trying to find some sort of switch or impression, and scraped the screen with her nail.

The black screen lit up, ripples of color leaving her finger. The surface was flat but fuzzy, like the pixels were some kind of moss. Sarah tapped the screen again, entering the menu, then looked at her nails. They weren't long or disgusting; they fit her pink hands well.

Sarah scrolled through the menu. Messages were smoke signals. Calling someone was hollering for them. Music and News were still Music and News, thankfully. She checked the news. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something about reality changing. Maybe there would be a report of someone who everyone thought had gone mad from rambling about humans and technology.

Welcome to Beaver News! read the tablet, the moss-like material shifting around as it faded to the new color. The best dam news source in Wiskunksin! Sarah looked away and exhaled. The fireplace crackled. That was terrible.

She scrolled through the headlines. Local beaver opens free restaurant. Penguin High reports no fights this last quarter. Missing elephant found alive and well by river. Lottery winner funds research into fur re-coloration technique. She double-checked if there was a filter active. Forget the lack of what she was looking for -- where were the robberies? Where were the thefts, the stabbings? Where was the ongoing scandal about the public library? According to Beaver News, the city was... peaceful. What a concept.

Not knowing how to turn off the tablet, Sarah slid it back under the couch. If there was one person in the world who could realize how wrong everything was, it was Karen. If Sarah remembered humanity, why wouldn't the other person who had tried on the glasses?

---

"Come in!"

Sarah opened the door and let herself in. The door was unlocked. Nobody did that, even if they were home -- occupation didn't stop people from breaking and entering.

The walls here were made of brick, and the floor of wooden planks. Lanterns hung from the ceiling. Sarah kept her tail hung over her shoulder; she didn't want to know what a splinter there felt like. She spread her toes out in her shoes to help them fit better.

A tall bear, a fox, and a gator were seated at a table, with one chair left empty. The three of them were eating noodles. A firepit with a pot hanging over it and a chimney were hidden by the doorframe. "Sorry, I didn't know you were having dinner," Sarah said. "I'll come back later." She turned to leave.

"Nonsense," said Karen. "Please, take a seat." Sarah did so. "Are you hungry? There's more than enough for you, and you must be sick with those clothes on. John, Ty, say hello to our guest."

The fox pulled his snout out of his bowl. Broth dripped from it. "Oh. Hello, Sarah. I am Sir John." He went back to stuffing himself.

"Hi," said the gator, not looking up from his meal. "I need to finish before John does."

"She knows I can eat faster than you."

"No you can't."

"You shouldn't talk while you're eating," Karen said, waving a hand at her kids. Those claws were close to swiping John's head off. "What brings you here?" she asked me. "Feel free to move the chair closer to the fire."

"I'm fine; thanks," said Sarah. "Remember when we went to the store earlier to get some toys for John and Ty?"

"Yes." Karen twirled her fork. "We found those glasses."

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about." Sarah grabbed her tail with both hands.

"Want me to get some for you before we start?" Karen lifted her bowl. It smelled good.

"No thanks. So, you know how everything looked different though them?"

"Uh-huh. You were pale and hairless, like a human, and the store looked unnatural. There wasn't any wood; everything was gray or white, and cut at right angles."

Sarah suppressed a sigh and started itching her tail. "Do you, uh, still have the packaging for one of the pairs you got? There's something I needed to check."

"Sure thing. I'll get it in a few minutes." Karen went back to eating. "Please, take some food; you must be sick with all those clothes on," she repeated.

Sarah couldn't help but dart her eyes around. She was the only person alive who knew the truth. She had been a human in the store during the morning. She had been a human going home, day after day for years, walking on tile and carpet. She had taken showers every day after waking up, cleaning her skin and rubbing shampoo through her hair. She didn't just remember doing these things; she remembered thinking about them, like the time she had almost broken her arm and had trouble reaching the top of her head. What was she going to do?

"Beat you!" shouted John, slamming his bowl down on the table. His black hands dripped and shone in the light.

"Hmph." Ty slowed down to normal eating speed and wiped his scaly snout.

"Wash your hands," Karen said while John was getting up. "You don't want me to tell the big crow, right?"

"I'll wash my hands!" squeaked John. "Don't tell Dad again!"

Sarah set her arm on the table and rested her head on it. A bear and a crow. A mammal and a bird. Even though Karen and her husband weren't feral animals, but people, it didn't make sense. One species gave birth; the other, eggs; and out of that came a different mammal and a reptile. In this world, they couldn't be adopted; as far as Sarah had seen, people's memories were rewritten so that humans were gone and places were different, but the actual content of the memories was untouched. If events were different, the city would have been unrecognizable to Sarah instead of just being a naturalistic re-brand.

Karen finished her bowl and stacked hers and John's in the sink. The firepit was reduced to a few embers. "I haven't shown the kids it yet." She opened one of the drawers, somehow fitting her huge hand through the handle, and pulled out one of the glasses.

There wasn't any plastic. The pair of glasses had a paper tag about the size of Sarah's palm tied to it with a piece of yarn. On the front side, the tag read 'Human Glasses', while on the back was the same information as the Animal Glasses. Sarah didn't bother to put the glasses up to her face; looking through the lenses and seeing the stovetop instead of the firepit was enough to convince her they showed the real world.

"Anything wrong?" Karen asked.

"No. I was seeing who made them. I wanted to know how they do it. Yeah." Breaking Karen's glasses in front of her wouldn't do, especially in front of one of her kids. Sarah needed to get another pair.

"I'll write it down for you so you don't forget." Before Sarah could object, Karen had pulled out a tissue from the tissue box and written it on it with a pencil. Sarah took it and stuffed it in her pocket.

"Thanks," said Sarah. "I'm going to head out now."

"Are you sure there isn't anything else wrong?"

"Yeah. If it's the clothes, I just like wearing clothes." But not when they're a size too big, Sarah thought. "I get cold sometimes."

"You might want to get that checked out. Ty is cold-blooded, but he keeps in heat just fine."

"I really need to get going. Bye!"

"Bye!"

---

Sarah reined in her tiger as she approached the store. The outside of the building looked like a scaled-up log cabin. Here, there weren't posts to hook animals up to, but instead a large, closed-off pen. Sarah dismounted and led her tiger to the giraffe-person in front of the gate. She hadn't brought the towel with her; the tiger seemed to be more cooperative when she rode bareback.

"Welcome!" the giraffe said, craning his neck above Sarah. Her neck strained from looking back up at him. "Dropping off your tiger?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do I need to pay?"

"Not at all!" He unlocked the gate, then pulled out a handful of grass from a bag and chewed on it.

"Thank you. Go inside," she told her tiger. In one of the far corners, a large wolf and a crocodile jumped at each other, rolling around, but the tiny nips they gave each other meant they were just playing. Sarah took her purse off of her tiger and walked toward the store entrance, gate shutting and locking behind her.

This purse wasn't the same purse she had brought to the beach, which was still missing, but a spare one she had found in a closet. When she went to her piggy bank, which was still the same ceramic piggy bank it always had been, it was bursting with golden coins. Not knowing the coin-to-dollar exchange rate, she had poured a healthy amount into the purse before leaving. Now, her side jingled with every step. She scratched her ears.

Inside the store, Sarah was greeted with the hubbub of dozens of people. Even though nudity was the norm, she couldn't help but feel guilty about being in a public place without clothes, and she was worried she would step her feet sooner or later. However, it was nice not being turned into a parachute by the wind while riding. And, instead of her fear coming back when she had seen gray fur on her belly, she had smiled.

Sarah didn't grab a wheelbarrow or a basket. She made her way straight to the toy area, passing by the heads of giraffe-people sticking up over the wooden shelves and even one eagle-person soaring between the chandeliers of the ceiling. He or she could easily pick up the items they wanted with those talons and bring them to the checkout.

About half a dozen people were crowded in Sarah's aisle, all of whom had wheelbarrows with them. Sarah was waiting patiently out of the way when a lion waved at her. "Here, you look like you can sneak by," he said, shifting his wheelbarrow out of the middle of the aisle. The larger elephant behind him did the same, lifting with one hand while holding a beverage in the other. Sarah sniffed the air, but she didn't know what it was. It wasn't alcohol, and it wasn't fizzy like a soda.

Sarah squeezed herself against the shelf. She cleared the lion, but the elephant was a problem. Even after adjusting himself, he took up nearly the whole aisle. Sarah forced herself through the gap, a hair away from rubbing against his skin.

"Ahh!" Sarah stubbed her toe and swung her arms to break her fall, forgetting there was mass of elephant behind her. Her hands smacked his side, and there was a crash of glass as the bottle he was holding fell to the floor, breaking into hundreds of pieces. Yellow fluid seeped into the floorboards. "Oh my goodness," Sarah said, leaping the rest of the way, "I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot, I shouldn't have tried to--"

"It's alright," said the elephant, his voice resonating through the aisle. The other people turned around and came over. "Accidents happen."

"I'll get the glass," said the snow leopard. She laid down on her back and began sweeping the mess with her long tail.

"I'll go find a broom and pan," said the lion, jogging out of the aisle.

"Anyone hurt?" asked someone who looked like a hen.

"I'm alright," said the elephant.

"I'm..." said Sarah. She looked down at her feet. The liquid ended at her toes, but the bits of glass could be anywhere, hiding, waiting to cut her. "I'll be okay. Mister elephant, please, I'll pay for your drink." She opened her purse. "Just tell me how much it was and I'll stay away from you; I didn't mean to cause anything."

"Don't worry about it," the elephant said. His trunk flailed.

"Let me lift you out of there," said the hen, hugging Sarah from behind and moving her to the end of the aisle. "I don't think I can pick you up, though," she said to the elephant.

"I have thick feet." He stepped away, leaving the snow leopard and her yellowing tail some space. The lion came back in and began sweeping up the snow leopard's glass pile.

Sarah rubbed her teeth together. She felt like a fool standing there. Everyone else was on the job, doing what needed doing, while she couldn't even pay for what she had done. The most baffling thing was none of them held contempt for her causing the mess. None of them had glared at her or whispered anything under their breath.

"We've got it all covered," said the lion, as if he could read her mind. "May the rest of the store provide you with even footing." He bowed.

Sarah nodded her head, and, against every sense of morality, walked away. There was nothing she could have done. More people would have made it take longer to clean up in that tiny space.

She didn't want to be in the store longer than necessary. She continued on to the aisle she remembered seeing the Animal Glasses in, and found the Human Glasses in the same spot. She took a pair and headed to the checkout, staying clear of the aisle she had come out of.

There was one lane open that didn't have anyone in it. Some of the other cashiers -- none of whom had any uniform or tag on to identify them -- held up their lines by chatting with their customers, but nobody seemed to mind. In fact, most of them looked like they had joined in.

"Did you find everything alright?" asked the squirrel at the checkout line. He looked so happy to be working as a cashier.

"Uh, yes," Sarah said.

"That's great to hear!"

Sarah extended her hand to give him the pair of glasses, but hesitated. Did she really want reverse what she had done? What was she missing that this world didn't provide? There was no crime to be heard of; people even left their doors unlocked. The store and the beach had filled her head with the sounds of peaceful conversation rather than alternating between silence and screeching.

People were so nice. She had caused a scene at the beach, except she hadn't -- the crowd had been concerned for her health. At Karen's house, John and Ty weren't trying to steal each other's stuff, but were acting out their rivalry in a more constructive way. And now, when she thought she had ruined the elephant's day, she hadn't. The shoppers had been willing, even glad, to clean up.

Technology was still at the same level, even though everything had a natural theme. Sarah's tablet was still a tablet, and her tiger functioned as well as any car she had driven. The cashier still had a scanner, register, and display, even though they were a magnifying glass, chest, and scroll on a stick that wrote on its own.

And, her lifelong fear of mice was gone. Whenever she remembered the whiskers on her face, she wanted to hug herself, not run.

"Is that your only item?" asked the squirrel.

"Actually," said Sarah, "I don't think I'm going to buy it."

The squirrel took the glasses and put them in a bin underneath the counter. "Thanks for taking a look around our shop! Have this complementary acorn." He handed one to Sarah. "Hope to see you again soon!"

She didn't think she would ever need to change her mind, but if she did, the store was always here, selling glasses waiting to be broken.