Daily writing prompt

If you had to be an animal for a week, which one would you be and why?

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If I had to be an animal for a week, my first thought would be that I already am one.

Human beings are animals. We just wear pants, cook our food, and pretend that separates us from the rest of the kingdom.

But I understand the question. Which other animal would I want to be for seven days? Most of the options sound less like an adventure and more like a sentence.

A bear might be fun, but location matters. A bear near where my stepmother lives in North Carolina has a pretty good setup. Bears there are protected, and some people occasionally leave their garages open with an outdoor refrigerator exposed. One bear reportedly raided somebody’s fridge and drank all the beer.

That bear had a good night.

Put me in the Rockies, though, and suddenly I am scrounging for food, sleeping outside, and hoping nobody mistakes me for a rug they have not purchased yet. No thank you.

A lion sounds impressive. King of the jungle. Majestic mane. Terrifying roar. But at some point, I am probably going to have to hunt an antelope. That creates an important question: Do I receive the lion’s hunting ability, or do I simply get the lion’s body while retaining my current skill set? Because I am not catching an antelope. I have trouble opening produce bags at the grocery store.

If I have to chase down dinner, wrestle it to the ground, and eat it without the benefit of seasoning, utensils, or a side dish, I am going to have a very long week.

Dolphins are out. People have somehow convinced themselves that dolphins are brilliant, noble creatures who spend their days rescuing swimmers and discussing philosophy beneath the waves.

They are basically water dogs with sonar. And some of their behavior suggests they are water dogs who were never properly trained. Except they weigh hundreds of pounds, are made almost entirely of muscle, and have home-field advantage. I do not want to spend a week in the ocean wondering whether a dolphin is approaching to save me, study me, or behave in a way that would get it removed from polite society.

Birds can fly, which sounds wonderful, but birds also seem to spend half their time eating and the other half getting rid of what they just ate. They are also prey for other birds, cats, snakes, and anything else capable of looking upward with bad intentions. Knowing my luck, I would spend six days enjoying the miracle of flight and then get caught off-balance on a fence during my final afternoon.

That would be an unfortunate end to the experiment.

As much as I love dogs, I would not choose to be one. Dogs are completely dependent on people. My dogs rely on me to feed them, change their water, walk them, open doors, and occasionally determine why they are barking at something that does not exist. I love them, but I sometimes feel bad about how dependent they are.

And honestly, if I had to depend on me any more than I already do, I would probably get angry.

So after considering all the noble, powerful, intelligent, and majestic creatures available, I have reached an unfortunate conclusion.

I would be a house cat. Not just any house cat. I would need to be a house cat in a rich person’s home.

I do not want to be wandering around outside, fighting raccoons, dodging traffic, or catching rodents. I want climate control, expensive furniture, clean water, and food with ingredients I cannot pronounce.

I want a box provided specifically for my personal business and a human whose job it is to clean it. I want to sleep wherever I choose, receive affection when I demand it, and walk away the moment I lose interest. I want to knock something off a shelf and watch a person blame gravity.

For one week, I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and the people around me would find it charming. Then, at the end of seven days, I would return to real life.

I still would not like cats. But I might finally understand them.