Page 73 of Beasts of Mine

“You're laughing,” I accused Cat, pointing toward him while the amber-eyed leopard continued guarding his rejected branch.

I am resting, Cat told me, opening one golden-brown eye while another silent shake moved through his chest and betrayed him completely.

“You are absolutely laughing,” I told Cat, narrowing my eyes while his whiskers twitched. The darker leopard appeared at the edge of camp while I was still deciding whether refusing a stick could somehow be considered rude. He walked directly past the offering without slowing, earning such an offended expression from the amber-eyed leopard that I finally looked back at the branch.

Then at him.

Then at the branch again.

“Fine. The stick can stay,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, picking it up and leaning it against one of the platform supports. The amber-eyed leopard immediately straightened.

Good, the amber-eyed leopard told me, settling beside the steps with the unmistakable satisfaction of someone whose excellent judgment had finally been recognized.

I regretted giving in almost immediately.

Dinner that evening consisted of rice, dried vegetables, tuna, and enough hot sauce to make the packaged meal feel less depressing. The smell attracted approximately half the insects in the rainforest and one amber-eyed leopard who sat so close to the bottom of the platform that I could feel him watching every forkful.

“You brought me fruit. That doesn't mean we're sharing tuna,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, raising one eyebrow while I guarded the bowl with my free hand.

Why? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, inching his front paws closer as his eyes remained fixed on dinner.

“Because this is my dinner,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, moving the bowl several inches farther away from the edge.

I brought dinner, the amber-eyed leopard reminded me, glancing pointedly toward the fruit he'd delivered earlier.

“You brought snacks,” I corrected the amber-eyed leopard, trying not to smile as his ears tipped backward. Cat lifted his head from where he'd been resting near the steps.

You feed me, Cat told me, apparently deciding to join the argument while his gaze moved toward my bowl.

“You were injured,” I told Cat, pointing my fork toward him in warning.

Not anymore, Cat replied, looking entirely too satisfied with himself as his whiskers shifted slightly.

I lowered the fork slowly.

“That sounds like an argument I don't want to encourage,” I told Cat, narrowing my eyes as I pulled the bowl closer to my chest. The darker leopard lay several feet away with his paws crossed neatly in front of him.

She is learning, the darker leopard told Cat, closing his eyes while the faintest amusement warmed his otherwise calm voice.

I turned toward him.

“You're supposed to be the nice one,” I informed the darker leopard, watching one ear flick without the rest of him moving.

Apparently, alliances were meaningless here.

The second night passed almost embarrassingly well. I checked in with Mara at six, reviewed the best photographs from the day, changed two batteries, backed up the memory cards, and climbed beneath the mosquito net expecting to spend at least twenty minutes listening to the rainforest settle.

I didn't.

Cat took his usual place near the entrance. The darker leopard curled near the rear of the shelter, and the amber-eyed leopard stretched himself near the front with absolutely no consideration for how much space one animal could reasonably occupy.

I was asleep in minutes.

By the third morning, I stopped finding that strange. It was simply what happened now. I woke, worked, and somewhere around camp there were three leopards moving in and out of my day as though we'd been doing this far longer than we actually had.

The darker leopard led me toward places worth photographing. Cat checked routes before I used them. The amber-eyed leopard deposited objects around my shelter as though slowly furnishing it according to a design plan known only to him.

At some point, I realized I'd stopped wondering whether they would come back.