a few months before I was supposed to make my first-ever trek to the untamed city, my hummingbird warned me to watch out for the wild animals that therein abided. she buzzed in my ear, flitted in my face, and pleaded with me not to leave the human reservation. i kept many pets besides the purple hummingbird: a fox fluent in Portuguese, a very hungry, albino chipmunk, and a ladybug that only spoke in trochaic trimeter. i was patient and considered their counsel while we ate a meal of nuts, berries, and dandelion greens. after we ate, i enchanted them with the plot of the film Blade Runner and they laughed as only woodland creatures can, their chittering chortles tickling the tree leaves like a twilight breeze. after finishing the tale of problematic personhood, my pets wished me well in the city. i left the reservation without fanfare. the city welcomed me with its parklands situated directly behind the main gate. the residents called the park, “Frog Farm Manor.” inside the park, i followed the locals to observe and learn how they engaged in leisure activity. they strolled amongst the lush grasses that filled in the spaces between the park’s many streams and ponds. i told a local my pets counseled me about the wild animals that roamed the city. the local laughed and said, “you’ll find neither snake nor tick in this city. you won’t even find a frog. but lions, and tigers, and bears? watch out.”  during my time in the city, i must confess, i did not once happen upon a lion or a tiger or a bear. i did, however, see a woman walking toward a window during sunrise. she watched the reflection of the sky going white as the sun came up. i watched a woman climb a tree to get atop the roof of a building, across which she scrambled like a spider out of sight. i witnessed a woman move from the visible rays of the noonday sun into the shade provided by a sculpture of a massive thumb that shot forth from the ground like a branchless redwood. the woman never stopped smiling. i sat with the setting sun many times. i climbed many trees and watched the locals from aloft.  locals pointed at me often and avoided walking underneath me. i watched a man with a knife walk toward a small child during one day’s indigo gloaming. i counted so many locals as they moved back and forth and forth and back. they sauntered under the sun and under artificial lights that illuminated streets and alleyways. i left the city satisfied and unscathed. my pets asked me about the wild animals. they did not believe my story.