…and captured us all. The enemy didn’t actually look any different than us, except for the darker pigmentation of the drum belly and the ugly yellow dorsal stripes. But its teeth were unsightly curved inward, while our walkers protrude magnificently. That’s why the officer who was questioning me lisped so funny that I could hardly help myself to chuckle.

First he wanted to know his name and rank, which of course I strictly refused, citing the martial law that had been hastily declared the night before. Then he loosened his gun belt, offered me a cat’s paw to nibble on, and played buddy.

“Why are we actually fighting each other?” he whined, “We’re all dinosaurs. You can’t do anything about your disgusting white bellies and boring backs, it’s just a whim of nature … But what we really blame you for,” a menacing growl came from his throat, “is your rough treatment of the poor warm-blooded animals. What have they done to you, all the kittens and hedgehogs, the ferrets and martens, the piglets and beavers, the monkeys and so on?”

I found that really outrageous. “Aha,” I exclaimed unwisely, “so you’re talking about the furry animals! You want to keep it all to yourself. How are we supposed to feed ourselves? And how to cover our nakedness when the cold threatens to freeze our blood?’ I struggled to pull myself together and tried to relax the situation: ‘And the fur coat you’re sitting on? Did the bear take it off voluntarily and give it to you?”

The interrogator held his snout in laughter with one claw while smacking my sensitive lips hard once in punishment with the other. “You forget your situation,” he rattled sternly. »Your war is lost, our animal protection has prevailed. All fur creatures are confiscated and processed exclusively by us. Hides and bones, tripe and ham, sweetbreads and brains, breast and leg are allotted from now on.” He began to lisp affably again. “Don’t worry, you won’t starve, nor will you freeze to death. Your work is valuable to us, your well-being – within certain limits – is a concern. And now get out!”

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I considered. Something about the logic of this victory struck me as dubious. Only one thing was certain: we had lost the war – not only militarily, but also morally.

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