Imagine walking along a string of cages. Each an animal dwelling. You can add some physical variance to each stare behind the bar. Whether it’s more of a cat, monkey, reptile or alien altogether.
Maybe it’s dusk out and all the employees are missing. Just you and your peanuts.
Which one do you want to feed? So many yellow eyes locked on your strip-red plastic container.
Maybe one grabs the bars and shakes violently. Another walks in circles before laying down dejectedly. Some stare past you. Do you want to give them some?
One could yield to personal preference. Maybe you want whichever has the fiery mane. Deliver peanuts as though a blessing: this one shall last through the ages. This one lives the next day.
But now your hat is in the ring. The one you fed later rampages throughout the park. Lasting damage, a type of regret where it isn’t really your fault, but you’d wonder if you’d find more peace if you never tossed a Peanut that day.
Maybe from now on you don’t bother to bring peanuts at all. Observe what others choose to bless with their tossings instead. Keep a good distance.
There’s no inventory to keep. No history to preserve and remind oneself. No real “what ifs” attached. Whether one was at the zoo that day or not becomes irrelevant.