VANESSA
I watched the human, Whitney rant dramatically about her “luxury prison” and her “tragic, terrible apartment,” complete with hand gestures and sighs worthy of a stage performance. She sounded genuinely upset, which was… confusing.
Back with my herd, my days were spent fighting for scraps, sleeping wherever we could curl up without freezing, and always listening for footsteps that meant danger. Food was survival, shelter was luck and peace was a myth.
So hearing her complain about too much food and too much safety felt almost absurdly privileged. But then she said she missed her life. Missed her purpose, that strangely resonated with me.
And suddenly, it didn’t sound privileged at all. It sounded like she was telling all that to me because she was bored out of her mind. Bored
