A fox sniffed around in a bush. Even though he loved the night, it would be nice to eat before the sun went away.

The fox tilted his head up and sniffed the air. The scent came from that way. He walked toward it. Did the humans leave some food for him? It made living much easier when they did; he could spend the time he would have used hunting the animals that lived here to instead be lazy, lie down, and ponder.

They did leave him some food. It was nice of the humans to drop off their large, shiny, black fruits in particular; not only were they easy to find, they seemed to keep the other humans away. Where were they getting so much food that they could ignore some left out in the open? It wasn't like this was some hidden part of the world; humans came here day and night to frolic in the grass. They were fun to watch. Sometimes, they came with strange things they would stick in the ground, like what looked like a black web made by a spider who wanted each gap in the web to be square and the same size.

There was always a little hole at the top of the black fruits, too small to fit a paw through, but it was easier to get at the insides of the fruit by tearing the peel apart.

The fox swiped at the peel, resisted by the stretchy material, and stuck his snout in the new hole. There was a mix of solids, liquids, and inedible things. The scents of all of them blended together, but after past trial and error, he had learned what was okay and not okay to eat.

These fruits had different insides in each, but there were certain things were there most of the time. Digging around, the fox found a skinless chicken in a crinkly and shinier peel, a pile of green circles that smelled sweet, two brown banana peels, some mushy vegetables he didn't recognize, and shed human fur. Their fur was the strangest thing about them. Every human had their own fur patterns and colors, but, except for the fur on top of their heads, it floated above their bodies and didn't even cover all of it. What was the point? How could they keep warm when their heat could leave through their bare forelegs and faces?

At the bottom of the fruit was a puddle of a reddish-brown liquid that smelled like death. The liquids contained in their own peels were for the most part okay, but the fox had never tried drinking from the puddle before. He didn't trust it. The fox pulled the cold chicken out onto the grass.

Sniff, sniff. Was that what he thought he smelled? The fox tore the bag open further and moved the insides around. He pulled out a clear peel. Inside was a tan lump, shaped like one of his pawpads. He loved this kind of food. It smelled sweet, tasted sweet, and was filling. Eating more than one at a time made his stomach hurt, but the taste was worth it. However, instead of having brown lumps scattered around in it -- which were especially sweet -- it had red lines and dots on it. And, there was only one piece of food.

This clear fruit was harder to open than the black fruit. The fox couldn't rip through; he had to stick his claws between a small gap that ran around the whole peel and pry it open.

Before eating the sweet food, the fox took a better look at the new pattern. It looked like his face; he had seen it looking at him whenever he was near water. The imitation fox was just an outline of his snout and ears, with spots filled in for eyes and a nose. He had seen patterns of trees on this kind of food before, but never an animal. He bit it with his teeth and started chewing. It wasn't as sweet as the ones with the brown lumps in them.

His body ached. He ran back to the bush, collapsing once he was hidden by the foliage. He shouldn't have eaten that. It was different-looking for a reason. Maybe the redness was made from the death-water.

"Yip!" His chest and forelegs were on fire. "Yip! Yip!" He rolled onto his back. It was like one of the humans' wolves had found him and was crushing his chest with its body. His spine, being driven into the ground, cracked at his neck, his tail, his back. Breathing and barking did little to distract him from the pain. "Yip!" He slapped his tail against the ground, over and over.

A few seconds later, the fire in his muscles faded away, leaving soreness. He rolled onto his belly and pushed himself up.

Crack!

"Yow!" The fox's forelegs gave way, and he fell flat on the ground. He breathed in and out, nose against the grass, which seemed to crawl further up his sides. His right foreleg stuck out behind him and off to the right, a place it shouldn't be. He wiggled the leg and its toes. No pain. It wasn't broken. He got up, but something was wrong. Both forelegs were too short, even when they were straightened too far to walk.

The bush shook. Someone was coming closer. He needed to leave, but he was in no state to run -- or even walk.

Rustle.

The fox jumped. It was one of the humans. The human had solid black fur on his head and body.

"Hi there," said the human. He showed a forefoot to the fox, then took out a small rectangle. "Say 'cheese'!"

"Cheese!" replied the fox.

The human's jaw dropped, and so did the fox's when he realized he not only understood the human, but spoke back to him.

"I must be dreaming," the human said, blinking his eyes. Thankfully, he didn't take the fox's open mouth for aggression. Why was the human shorter? And the tree he was next to, too?

The fox shifted his weight on his hindpaws, squishing something underneath. He looked down. Some liquid in the black fruit that didn't smell like the death-water had seeped out, but... he was standing on his hindlegs -- like a human -- even though his forelegs weren't leaning on anything.

"If... if you can talk," said the human, "do you have a name?"

"Cutie?" That's sound the humans liked to make around him. Oh, hi there, Cutie! How are you, Cutie? Aww, look at this Cutie over here.

"Well, nice to meet you, Cutie." The human put the rectangle-thing back in his fur. "I think I'm going to go now." He walked out of the bush, shaking his head. "Really?" he shouted. "Who leaves their garbage in the middle of the park?"

Cutie waddled on his two hindlegs. Left leg, right leg. They were their familiar shape, but his forelegs were unrecognizable. They could be twisted all the way around so his paw was facing up but the ankle was bent away, and they could move up, down, forward, backward, anywhere he wanted them to go -- thin, but flexible.

Cutie poked his head out of the bush. The human was picking up the black fruit -- the garbage -- with the red strips twisted around his forefeet. More food fell out. "Oh, great," he shouted, "something got in it!"

"Excuse me, human," Cutie said, revealing himself. "Where do you get all your food that you can leave this 'garbage' out for anyone to take?"

The human was disgusted. "You really eat this stuff?"

"There's all sorts of food in them. Chicken, sweet mushy things--"

"I'm surprised you aren't dead!" He let go of the garbage and ran his forefeet through his headfur.

"Nobody guards them--"

"No, no, no." The human slowly wiped a forefoot across his face. "You're not supposed to eat what's in the trash. We throw it out for a reason. Though, some idiots like to dump it out here in a public area... Hey, can you pass the word on to your animal friends? Don't rip into trash bags? I mean, since you can talk, go -- well, I don't know. Just don't eat the trash." He tried moving the fruit again, but Cutie's tear opened further. "Oh, forget this," he said, waving his forefeet and flinging fluid everywhere. He stormed off. Cutie wiped his feet and sprayed some spit on the bush to mark it before he forgot.

The sun was merging with the ground, turning the sky as orange as Cutie's back. The only human left in the park was a female with short, white bodyfur running down one of the stone paths. White tails came out her ears, but those were probably some of their mysterious tools, like the other human's rectangle. Her back was straight, and her forelegs were bent, one going forward and the other going backward with each step.

Cutie imitated the human, running along the treeline with his forelegs swinging. After his first few steps, he sped up. Despite being upright, he didn't feel like he was going to fall over or that his hindlegs were going to give way. His tail dangled, unneeded to keep balance.

Cutie wasn't as tall as humans were, but with his head and eyes up here, he felt like he was a bird looking down at the land. He could see the see the humans' stone paths slope up and down the land.

Behind a cluster of trees in the middle of the plain came the scent of pork and beef. Cutie left darted across the grass. It had barely hidden his paws before, but now, sticking up like a tree, he was exposed, vulnerable. He bent forward, but that made his back hurt. If only he could drop back down onto all-fours and sprint!

Cutie caught his breath at the trees, then peeked around while scratching his back against the bark. It was probably getting him dirty, but it felt wonderful. There were five humans, picking things up and putting them in something that looked like a bird's nest, but larger and not as round.

"Hello," announced Cutie, shifting to the other side of the tree. "May I have some of your meat?"

"I told you we should have left earlier," the father human said to the mother human. Their kids' fur patterns had faces on them. "Strange people come out at night."

"He's just a kid in some costume, dad," said one of the kids.

"Hey!" shouted another. Cutie froze, but none of the humans came at him. "Don't you know Halloween was a few months ago?"

"Oh, shush," said the first kid. "You never let anyone have fun."

"Who are your parents?" asked the mother. "It's not safe for children like you to be running around in the dark. Someone could snatch you up." She made a snapping noise with her forefoot.

"Bye," said Cutie, running the other way, tail between his hindlegs.

"Strange," muttered the father. He said something else in an angrier tone.

Cutie followed one of the stone paths out of the park until it ended at a corner. Strange, rigid animals darted in four directions on larger stone paths. The animals were smooth and shiny, with circles that rotated in place of legs. Huge holes perforated their bodies, showing a view inside their stomachs where the humans they had eaten sat, but the animals didn't bleed out. The humans didn't resist, either.

There was a cold, gray branch sticking straight out of the ground with large, pointed leaves growing from it. Cutie looked up, but the leaves were too high up to make out what was on them. Humans' markings? He backed up, but the leaves were still too high.

Cutie looked at the tree next to him, remembering his forelegs were flexible. Maybe he could grab onto the tree with them and climb up, but this tree was too thick to wrap his legs around.

A few trees away was another tree, thinner, the perfect size for him. He ran toward its trunk, jumped into the air with his two hindlegs, and... He latched onto the tree with his forelegs, dug into the bark with his claws, but his jump was pathetic. He had been able to leap twice his length -- or height, now -- but this jump was barely a quarter. Someone wounded by a wolf could jump higher.

Not able to move his hindlegs like he could his forelegs, Cutie awkwardly squeezed the tree with his hindlegs, moved his forelegs up the trunk, and pulled the rest of his body up. Repeating this several times, he was able to see what what the humans had marked the gray branch's leaves with. Maybe there would be a pattern, like the food that changed him had.

The bottom leaf, pointed to the left, had a box with a red cross next to the word 'hospital'. The leaf above that pointed in the same direction, but had a sharpened stick that was black at the pointed end and pink at the blunt end next to the word 'school'. The topmost leaf pointed to the right and had an apple on it, next to the word 'market'. This 'market' must be where food was, but in order to get there, he would need to wait for the human-eating creatures to stop their stampedes.

Cutie jumped down the tree, landed on his hindlegs, and watched them go. There was a pattern to their movement. They went in two directions at a time, opposite each other. After a short time, they stopped, and the creatures in the other two directions started moving.

When the way opened, Cutie bolted across the large path, keeping his eyes away from the animals' bright eyes. At the far end, he slowed to a walk and headed down the squares of stone. He understood the shiny animals having their own stone path, but why did the humans have two types for themselves? What did the evenly-spaced cracks do?

Usually, Cutie avoided the human parts of the world and stayed where grass and trees were plenty. Humans liked to remove them and replace them with stone, and stone, and more stone. Cutie walked with two feet on grass without a problem; why couldn't humans? Their hindfeet were rarely bare, since their removable fur covered that too. It had to protect them as much as his pawpads did.

The humans' dens grasped at the deep blue sky. The clear surfaces they had that let someone see through, like holes that were blocked by something invisible, were a tad too high for Cutie, but scents of meat, sweets, fruits, vegetables, and others he didn't know but made his mouth water seeped through.

"I've got the door," said a human behind him. Cutie turned around. One of the human-eating creatures had stopped neat the den and was throwing up another human. She came out dry and closed the creature's mouth, or whatever it was.

The first human pulled on the bulb sticking out of the front of the den and pulled it back, swinging part of the wall out. She and the humans with her went inside and pulled it back where it was. One of them said something about a window needing replacing, pointing to one of the see-through parts of the den wall.

Cutie continued on, passing by more of the humans' dens and waiting for the racing animals to stop and let him pass at each path crossing.

Shrouded by the night, he found the market. It was a large, open den that wasn't meant to be lived in. Rows of barkless and flattened trees rested on their sides, raised from the stone-covered ground by twigs that were also barkless. The wood was high enough that Cutie could only rest his snout if he stretched his neck. Nothing was on the wood, though, and neither humans nor light were here.

On a large branch holding the top of the den up was another leaf, but this one was more natural: thin and flexible. At the top, it read 'schedule', with a bunch of numbers underneath next to words like 'open' and 'closed'. Cutie had no idea what any of it meant other than the humans would probably be back during the day.

If he wanted to taste something other than garbage or spend tiring hours hunting critters, Cutie would need to sleep when the humans were asleep, be awake when the humans were awake. Nighttime was his home, but only daytime could give him what he wanted. Doing what he did earlier when climbing the tree, Cutie went up one of the large den-branches, rising higher and higher until he reached the wooden ground at the top. Instead of being flat like the ground below, it came down at him like a steep hill. Cutie shifted his claws from the branch to the edge and pulled himself up, panting when he made it. His forelegs were so thin compared to his hindlegs.

Cutie walked up the rest of the way, but at the summit, the wood slanted down just as sharply the other way. Standing up here was dangerous, but if he was low to the ground, he couldn't fall.

This would be as good of a place as any to sleep. Cutie laid down, tail covering his nose from the coming cold, and shut his eyes. Since he hadn't been awake for long, it took a while for him to become light and drift off.

---

Something poked Cutie's side. He shot his eyes open. It was a human, using a twig.

"Get off the roof, little guy." He poked harder, like he was going to switch from playing to impaling.

Cutie rose to his legs, straightened himself, and leaped off the top of the market, forgetting he only had two functional legs now. "Ow!" He scraped against the side of one of the smaller, lived-in dens instead of the 'roof' of the one he aimed at. Cutie groaned and looked for somewhere to hide until the humans came to the market -- and the one that poked him went away.

Down the path was one den, yellow in color, with a small version of Cutie's park in front. There were a few trees and a bush that ran all the way around the den, except for a space in the front. Cutie passed through.

Under the color-shifting sky, the human's park made up for its small size in beauty. Red and yellow flowers grew along the edge of the den. The human even had some dirt stuck below the windows so flowers could grow there too. Cutie took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh scent. It was wonderful, and it made him realize how bad his own stench was. He needed to find some water and clean himself; humans put a lot of judgment in their noses despite not licking them.

One of the humans' water-snakes was by the back of the den: green, coiled around a gray branch, and ending in what looked like a black mouth. Cutie had seen the humans use them before -- push the free jaw of the mouth closer to the snake, and it would spit out water -- but they had long toes on their forefeet, and one that could bend the other way. As Cutie grabbed the water-snake, he took a good look at his forefeet. They had those same features, but kept his fur, pawpads, and claws. He rubbed his side-toe up and down the skin of the snake. It wasn't scaly, but it felt like it was. Before last night, he could only have interacted with tiny objects with his feet; otherwise, he would have needed to use his teeth. Now, he could simply hold onto things. Cutie shifted his foot up to the snake's mouth and curled his long toes together.

Water surged through the squirming snake and rushed out of its mouth, assaulting the ground with the strength of a storm. Cutie let go and took a look at the front of the mouth. There were circles of various sizes marked on it, and an arrow pointed to the largest one. Cutie put his side-toe around the edge and rotated the front of the mouth so the arrow was pointing to the smallest circle. When he squeezed the mouth this time, the water came out in a drizzle.

Cutie sprayed himself with the water-snake, closing his eyes so they didn't get wet. Water rained down on the bush and the edge of the den as he danced. He felt heavier, and his fur clung to his body. Any cold water not soaked by his fur dripped down his body and hindlegs. The snake also became slick, almost slipping from his grip.

He let go. Cutie, a raincloud, stood in a puddle of mud. He moved over a dry area of grass, wiping his dirty hindfeet along the way, and shook out, drowning the bush further. He wasn't sure what to do with his forefeet, so he flung them as wildly as his tail.

Footsteps came from the den.

Cutie darted into a dry part of the bush and laid flat against the ground, just in time before two humans opened the door. Humans were okay with being approached -- they did it to each other all the time -- but if they caught a fox invading their territory or running away from it, he would be in trouble.

"Love you, Sweetie," said the mother human to her daughter. "Have fun at school. Stay on the sidewalk. Look both ways before you cross the street."

"What if the bus isn't there today?"

"That was only one day, and even then, it was just a few minutes late. You're not getting out of it today. Bye!" The mother waved her forefoot.

The daughter walked around the front of the den, and the mother went to the back. Cutie couldn't see where the daughter went, but it was probably in the direction the 'school' sign pointed.

"Tsk, tsk," the mother said to herself, bending her forelegs and putting her balled-up forefeet on her hips. "The hose handle must've gotten stuck again. Can't put your whole arm into it; gotta let your hand relax." She stepped into the mud. "Yuck." She went out of view, reappeared, and went inside.

Cutie crawled out of the bush, twigs scratching his fur, and jogged back to the square stone trail. To the left, the daughter walked on the square stones and waited before crossing the large stone path the shiny animals raced down -- the sidewalk and the street. Cutie looked down at his 'arms', flexing the toes on his 'hands'. There was probably a more specific term than 'toes'.

Cutie went back to the market. The sky was light blue now, and the sun was floating. Some people were behind the rows of wood with nests in front of them, while others were busy setting up just arriving. Cutie couldn't see what was in the nests, but he could smell food: apples and oranges, carrots and potatoes. There was also a hint of beef. It was time to get some of the humans' food.

A human stopped him before he was under the roof. "Sorry, little kid," he said, blue fur on his chest and black fur on his legs, "but no costumes are allowed. Need to take your mask off."

Cutie stared at the human. He was double his height and gave a look that said Cutie wasn't supposed to be here. Cutie avoided his eyes, instead scanning the market for the human who had made him get off the roof earlier, but couldn't find them. That was good.

Another human walked up, having the same fur. If family members had different patterns, what did this mean? "Oh, relax," the second human said, putting his hand on the first human's shoulder. "It's just a kid. Anyway, how many three-foot tall fox costumes do you see around here?"

"He needs to be with an adult."

"Didn't you tell me about how you would come here when you were four or five and buy food for your family?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Who cares? Nobody steals from the farmer's market. If he does try to do something, he's not going to get far with that costume on."

"Alright, fine. You can go in, buddy," the first human said, stepping out of the way. Cutie walked past. "Not even a 'thank you'?"

The scent of beef grew stronger as more humans arrived. Cutie's stomach rumbled. He walked down the stone ground, flanked by the rows of wood. The humans smiled, scowled, laughed, and raised the fur above their eyes at him. Each of them had a shiny, rectangular object, about the size of his body if he curled into a ball, that looked like it could be opened the same way as the clear peel with the sweet lump inside. Small leaves were stuck to the nests and wood, each with numbers on them. Some of the numbers were the same; most were different. Some had words like 'ea' and 'lb' next to them, but he didn't know what they meant. Maybe those humans were in a hurry and couldn't write the whole words.

Cutie stopped in front of the person who smelled most strongly of beef. She didn't have a nest on top of her share of the raised wood, but a large white leaf wrapped around the source of the scent. Cutie made himself taller and placed his head on the wood.

"Want a sample of my delicious beef jerky?" asked the human on the other side. She, too, looked down at him. She was grinning.

"Sure," said Cutie, inching away from the table. Humans liked to grin and show their teeth when they weren't being aggressive, but it was hard to not be defensive.

The human peeled away the white leaf, and the unfiltered scent went into Cutie's nose. His mouth watered at the pile of beef, sliced into long strips. He licked his nose while the human tore off a small piece. She handed it to him, and he put it into his mouth. Despite being dry and a bit salty, he devoured the sample. Garbage wasn't just bland compared to this; it was disgusting. It was always disgusting, but he hadn't known humans had food this good. How could he have eaten that for so long?

The sample only made him hungrier. He looked up at the human's eyes and let his tail wag. Her teeth were hidden.

"One sample per customer," she said. "My prices are right here." She pointed to one of the leaves with numbers on it.

Cutie looked over it again, still as clueless. "What's a dollar?"

The human chuckled. "Ah, you can't fool me, kid. Go by your mother, now. Tell her I said your costume is amazing."

Cutie walked to the other human he smelled beef from. Here, the beef was in chunks, not strips, ranging in size from a paw to his head. Cutie put his head on the table and looked at the human, but there were no samples here.

Cutie left and walked down the sidewalk in no particular direction. Humans had such an abundance of food that they turned it into garbage and left it out, but still had to do things to get some? The food was already available; Cutie, or any human in his place, didn't have to go out and hunt an animal for it. What was money? How did someone get money? What did it do? Could he eat it?

The sun melted Cutie's back. He was hungry, thirsty, and shouldn't be out walking around so early in the day. It was too bright out, too revealing to hunt for food. He didn't go back to the park, though. The humans had to have other ways of giving food that didn't involve money or garbage.

After a while, the street widened until it became a large stone circle, with other streets branching off. At the center, hidden by the human-eating animals stampeding by, was a puddle of water -- also circular -- with a human made of stone standing in the middle of it. The fake human had more fur on her than most humans he had seen; only her face and hands were uncovered.

Cutie waited for his chance to cross the street, sprinting when it came. The water smelled faintly of blood, and there were many brown discs coating the bottom of the puddle. Whatever they were, they didn't smell like garbage, so the water should be fine.

He submerged his snout and gulped down water, holding onto the edge with his hands so he didn't fall in. The water was cold, as if it was nighttime and snow had fallen. Every few gulps, he came up to gasp for air before taking more in.

His thirst was quenched, but not his hunger. Maybe he needed to try a more direct approach. The people in the park yesterday hadn't given him food, but that could have been because they were leaving.

Cutie turned around and went up to the door of the first den he saw. He jumped up to see through the windows, but they were blocked on the other side with something wavy. He curled his hand into a ball and beat it against the door to get the humans' attention. No humans came, and there weren't any footsteps or any rustling from the window-blocker. The humans weren't here.

He tried the next den. No response, either. Same for the next, and the next, and the next. Finally, one human opened their door.

"Hello?" he asked. He had no fur on top of his head.

"May I have some food?"

Cutie's fur stood on end from how fast he slammed the door shut.

It was much the same the rest of the way, except that his stomach grew emptier with each den. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Right before turning around to go back to the park, Cutie found a den that was obviously not lived in, but unlike the market, it looked like it once was. Any windows that were not crossed with wood were broken. The door itself had wood blocking the way. A human-marked leaf was stuck to it, covered in large words like 'condemned' and 'eviction', as well as more numbers.

Cutie went in back of the den. One of the windows was missing but not blocked. He jumped up, pulled himself over, and dropped down inside.

Squeak!

Cutie sniffed the air. Could it really be? Food? He stepped forward. The wood underneath him creaked.

Squeak! Squeak!

A rat darted out of a wall and across the floor. When it saw Cutie, it ran for safety.

Cutie leaped, flying over the rat and landing a foot away from its face. Despite Cutie's reduced jumping range, the rat panicked and looked for somewhere else to go. In that moment of confusion, Cutie put a hindfoot down on top of the rat, keeping it in place no matter how much it squirmed.

Cutie bent his legs and moved the rat to his hands. Then he ate it. The taste of blood and meat ran down his throat and into his stomach. He was still hungry, but the little bit was enough for the nausea to go away.

There was more squeaking, muffled by the walls. This abandoned den would be Cutie's new home for now. These rats would sustain him until he learned what money was and how to get it. Then, he would never have to worry about hunting or sifting through garbage again.

He only hoped he wouldn't make a habit of sleeping during the night.