The hairless ones who stand on their hind legs are fools. I play their games, I fake submission, and I pretend to be happy when they come back into my den. They think they are the pack leaders, and I let them think it. They leave food lying around the den for me, they construct elaborate places for bedding down, they create obstacles in their dens to keep the other animals out, and they even scratch places on my body that I can’t reach easily.

Soft, you say? I may be. I may have become soft, but I live comfortably. I worry little for predators’ attacks or thieving scavengers who would take my food. I don’t need to hunt in the open, track my food, or kill it. The hairless ones serve me, in this regard. They bring gifts of food in exchange for my protection of their cozy dens.

You may hold onto the belief that I am soft, but there are those in the world that know different. I lead the hairless ones out into the world daily, terrifying and hunting down those nut scavenging rodents wherever I find them.