We were greeted by a horse, two cows, and a monkey. The horse and cows were confined to their stalls; the monkey was dangling from a miniature trapeze inside a cage. They all had something to say—not in human language, but in neighs, moos, and screechy gibbering—and they were all wearing collars with numbered tags. “It must be feeding time,” I said. We gave the cows and the horse some hay and alfalfa. I found a burlap bag full of peanuts and some overripe bananas in a cabinet near the monkey’s cage. He seemed to like them. “You said there were about ten names on the list?” my dad said. “At least.” “Then we’re still missing some animals.” “Even if we find them all, it won’t do us any good,” I said. “Unless we can figure out how to get the memories out of the animal and back into the person’s brain. And we don’t know which animal has whose memories.” “We will,” my dad said. “But right now we should go home, eat dinner, and have a talk about your reckless and irresponsible behavior.”
