In the beginning I did little more than explore the surroundings of the house: the street, the lawn, the strip of forest. I ran with the neighbourhood cats. To this day, I envy those cats their discretion and heightened senses. They don’t trust me, and I respect that, even if it makes me a little sad. Cats are even less predictable than humans, but I can ignore them if I want. No one trusts cats. They’re known for being undependable. To the best of my knowledge, no murderer has ever been caught because of a cat. In danger? Don’t expect your cat to warn you. Lost? Too bad, they can’t track you. What cats are good at is sitting back and observing in silence.

Next I got into dogs. The ones that were tied up, not going anywhere. It took a while for me to approach them since barking scared me. There was Theodore, the neighbours’ German shepherd, who’d get excited the moment I got close. He’d bark, yank on his chain, and rouse the entire street. When I understood that all I had to do to shut him up was go over and say hi, things got much more straightforward. The ideal scenario was for me to already be beside him when he became aware of my presence so the idea of barking wouldn’t even enter his mind. Because at the time of day I was out and about, Theo would be sleeping. I’d wake him by dropping the leftovers from last night’s dinner right under his nose. We got to be good pals. After I moved, I had to walk 95 minutes (in summer) and 105 (in winter), through the forest, to go see my old friend.

Making friends with dogs became a game to me. I challenged myself to get in tight with the mangiest mutts in the neighbourhood, and the most vicious ones as well. The louder their bark and the more they bared their fangs, the better. The ones whose owners never took them for walks. I’d watch the shows about famous dog trainers on TV and try out their techniques. Most didn’t work, but feeding them did. Between ages nine and seventeen, almost my entire allowance went to dog treats. I’d go to the next town over to make my purchases (seventy-eight minutes on foot; twenty-four by bike). I liked to be discreet.

I started keeping to the background. I’d set up on the edge of someone’s yard, somewhere humans couldn’t see me. I liked properties near the forest so I could go home along paths and avoid the streets. I wore warm, dark-coloured clothing. Rainy days were best. The relaxing ambient sound of misty raindrops. The powerful smell of wet plants. There’s a lovely, sadly little-known word for this phenomenon: petrichor. People need to get outside a little more.