I pass two squirrel monkeys swinging happily from the children’s carousel. A pelican watches from her perch on a popcorn stand.

I see a camel and a zebra together, looking stunned to be standing side by side.

I notice a red lemur, Merlin, on a picnic table. Lemur eyes are always big, if you ask me. But Merlin’s eyes look like they’re about to pop right out of his head.

I make my way through splintered wood and glass shards and approach the gift shop. It’s roofless. Stuffed toy animals are scattered here and there like they tried to make a break for it. An I LOVE KOALAS T-shirt dangles from a tree branch.

Around a corner I see a baby sloth—Sylvia, I think her name is. She’s resting on a muddy plush giraffe.

“Hey, there,” I say.

She makes a tiny noise. A sloth sob, I guess it is.

“Let’s find your mom and dad.” I’m not one for hugging and licking and such, but I give her a little nudge with my nose.

Sylvia somehow manages to grab the giraffe, then looks up at me like she expects to hitch a ride.

How the heck do you pick up a baby sloth? It’s not exactly part of my job description. And sloths are so . . . you know, slothy.

Carefully, I pick her up by her scruff, the way you do with a puppy. She puts that silly toy in her mouth, and off we go.

Takes a few minutes, but I find her mom, Selma. I deposit Sylvia on a patch of wet grass.

“How can I thank you?” Selma cries.

“No biggie,” I say, and I head on, with fear in my belly and the odd taste of sloth fur in my mouth.

make no sudden moves

I’ve ridden around the grounds of the park in Julia’s backpack enough to know every inch of the place. I’ve even chatted with many of the residents. But now everything is topsy-turvy. I keep finding myself in places I don’t want to be.

Like the wolf exhibit.

Near the entrance, a sign lies crushed on the ground. It has a picture of a gray wolf with an arrow pointing one way, and another arrow with an emperor penguin on it.

To my right I see a piece of hay, stuck deep in a tree trunk like a pencil in a cupcake.

To my left, water gushes from a pathside ditch. A broken pipe.

The boiling sky has settled into a solid blanket of gray, and the rain’s quieted to a steady drizzle. Still, I smell more bad weather menacing in the distance.