Zeya

Zeya was a red panda at the zoo just a handful of blocks away and I knew I had to rescue her. 

It was my first year teaching and things were not going well.  I had left college, bright and full of optimism, accepting a teaching job in a new city far away.  So often we don’t realize the expectation we have until that expectation is not met. My struggles in the classroom were showing me that I expected to saunter into the underserved school and create amazing, transformational change among my students.  This image of myself as a savior uplifting all the downtrodden students confronted the harsh realities of my lack of preparation, the depth of the work already occurring and the breadth of the problem. All that is to say that during my first formal observation, on Halloween, Pamela refused to stop buzzing around the class dressed as a bee and half the students didn’t bother to end their conversations for more than a minute or two during the entirety of the lesson, in other words a normal day.

When we divide teachers into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and then ascribe heroic qualities to the good ones, anything less must be bad.  It crushed me to think that I might be a bad teacher. I didn’t yet realize the slow forward and backward progress that would lead me towards incremental growth for myself and my students.  I didn’t know that I would lean on the assets of my students, families, and coworkers to learn, a far cry from the idea that their deficits were the problems and my white middle class values were the answer.  

Perhaps it was my inability to rescue others that led me to the certainty that I must rescue Zeya.  There was a very certain spot in the park by the zoo. If you stood exactly in this spot you could see through the fence and the shrubbery and into Zeya’s cage.  I loved that spot.

In college friends were never more than just across campus and more often than not in the same dorm.  Activities and classes promoted the interactions that I thrived on, seeing people. I was known by and I knew others.  People thought of me as nice and accomplished. In this new city no one knew me, apart from the occasional work happy hour no one particularly seemed to care to get to know me.  No one knew that my college relationship had ended the night before my first day of teaching. I felt that I must portray the eternal optimism and friendliness for which I had been known, but when what is underneath is despair, a smile is taxing and the phoniness was plain for all to see.

Maybe, then, it was my need for companionship.  Some might adopt a cat or a dog or perhaps join a social group or a church, so is it all that strange that I chose an adorable young red panda?

On the other hand, perhaps it was the feeling that I must rescue myself.  It was, after all, half way through the school year when covid-19 spread like a slow earthquake, shaking the world to its core.  Any chance of finding success in the classroom or companionship outside of it was stolen by that virus. I was aware that the virus had stolen so much from so many, in fact I was more aware of this than I was of my loss.  In my mind at least now I didn’t have to work with unruly students and I’d no need to feel pressure to ‘get out there’ or ‘try to meet someone.’ My days blurred together in the small apartment. Quarantine for me, alone, was a blur of video games, the strange meals of someone who no longer cares for what food tastes like, and endless Zoom video meetings.

It could be that a loneliness caged me in so completely that I ended up at the zoo that fateful evening with a pair of wire cutters.  That my freedom was somehow tied to Zeya’s, our fates linked.

I had been thrilled to find an apartment near the small local zoo, growing up I had loved animals.  In the summers I’d gone to zoo camp and during the year I’d loved animal magazines and books. Before the stay at home order closed all non-essential business I would walk through the zoo after a tough day at work (they were all tough), often lingering at the red panda exhibit.  The two red panda cubs were the pride of the little zoo, having been acquired around the same time that I arrived. 

Zeya began to notice me.  While her sister Ila didn’t seem to pay me any mind, Zeya would often stare at me or come closer to the side I was near.  The way she tilted her little head or showed off some toy in her enclosure solidified our bond. I don’t know if it was simply the frequency of my visits or that she somehow recognized in me that I was also a stranger in a faraway land.

When nonessential businesses were closed to prevent the spread of the virus and they closed the zoo my walks around the neighborhood became longer.  Out of habit I would still walk to the zoo. It was on one of these walks that I discovered the spot in the bushes that I could see a tiny corner of the red panda enclosure and Zeya discovered a tiny spot in her cage that she could see me!  Here was an animal that not only saw me, but seemed excited to recognize me, that meant the world to me.

During quarantine I obsessively flicked between CNN, Facebook, Instagram, and the local news, especially at night or very early in the morning.  My brain stuck in a spiral of bad news, every time I checked there was some new horror from the disease so I felt that I must check. It was in the local news that I saw it, “A zoo is struggling so much that it may have to feed some animals to other animals.”  I read on in disbelief.

Faced with disrupted supply chains and steep revenue declines due to the coronavirus pandemic, one zoo is considering a drastic measure: turning some of its residents into food… they will have to consider its absolute, last resort plan: slaughtering some of its zoo animals to feed others... the zoo is home to more than 700 animals and more than 100 species, has drafted an emergency plan listing which animals would be euthanized to cut costs, and in what order…

I read it and re read it.  There were many thoughts that I could have had about making a donation or figuring out what order the animals were to be fed to one another, certainly the beloved new red panda cubs were in no danger!  These are not the logical thoughts that my depressed, anxiety filled brain told me. No, the tales I told myself were much more disjointed and dark. I tossed and turned all that night. I was so unsettled by the idea that Zeya was in danger, the little furry bright spot in each of my days was to be fed to the lions.  What kind of place would even consider that? My fitful sleep was full of nightmares and my waking moments were unfocused as though I was stumbling through life never fully asleep and never fully awake.

I didn’t notice the mess that seemed to begin in the sink with a pile of dishes and quickly expanded to fill the whole apartment.  I’d no need for laundry or changing clothes, nothing felt necessary, everything felt harder than it ought to. I’d let the few calls I did receive go to my full voicemail inbox.  I barely posted the links to lessons for my students, hardly any of them would look at them anyway.

My daze lasted for a few days I think, one day blended into the next when I never went anywhere.  Day and night twirled together in the confusion when I left bed so irregularly.

“I have to save her.”

The thought was simple at first glance, but compared to the tasks I was struggling to complete (showering, making cereal) it was actually monumental.  The complexity of the task snapped a lot of my life back into place. There was getting the wire cutters and gloves from Home Depot (essential business), that involved getting in the car.  I also had to stop by Petsmart, I figured things for a dog would be most helpful. My Google search filled with ‘how heavy are red pandas?” so that I could pick an appropriately sized crate.  I knew from watching Zeya play that the stuffed animal toys were a favorite of hers, plenty of those in the dog section! I also got one of those towers for cats that I figured she would enjoy climbing on.  I stopped by the grocery store and loaded up on all sorts of fruits, bananas, apples, grapes. I even ate an apple on my way home. Once home I cleaned up, I couldn’t have Zeya thinking her new home was a pig sty.

The heist unfolded at around 10:30 p.m.  The town was always quiet at night, even more so with the stay at home order.  Even though it was only a 15 minute walk, I pulled my car around and parked a block and a half away.  I’d dressed in dark clothing, but not suspiciously dark, I wanted to be able to deny that I was up to anything nefarious.  As I approached the fence I was grateful for the bushes that obscured the view from the road, I was painfully aware of how impossible it was to casually carry the large wire cutters inconspicuously.  

Cutting the wire fence was easy enough, although the ‘snap snap’ sound when I pushed down on each seemed to me to be the equivalent of a blaring alarm.  After each I crouched low and waited to be discovered. I had never been in trouble for anything in my life, I’d also been terrified of detention or breaking any rule, my heart raced as I committed what was certainly a felony.  I felt warm with the thrill, despite the cool night air.

After an eternity I slipped clumsily through the wire, yanking a free a bit of my shirt that snagged and unspooled.  As I pulled myself free I stumbled and fell forward towards Zeya’s enclosure, “what am I even doing here?” I wondered as I stood and brushed myself off creeping forward, then froze.  There was someone moving nearby, fear gripped me, of course there would be a night guard. At least one! They were likely coming over to investigate, there were probably cameras too!  

I doubt anyone has been so relieved to realize that it was a jaguar lurking in the darkness on the other side of the bushes as I was in that moment.  

When I reached Zeya’s cage, I was relieved to find her in our corner, the very spot I’d seen her from on all those walks, I knew then that I was doing the right thing.  I hastily snipped a small hole in the cage, Zeya’s soft features stared at me, curiosity all over her tilted face.  

I carefully pried open the wiring, making what looked to me to be a young red panda sized hole.  Yet Zeya just sat there staring, “come here little Zeya” I pleaded in a hushed voice that I strained to make sound friendly.  “Come one over...I’m going to save you.” Zeya simply stood up and waddled around, not moving much closer or much further from me.  I reached one arm in through the harsh metal fencing, fully flattening my body onto the ground. I moved my arm in a sweeping, scooping motion.  As my arm made contact with Zeya, her fur was so impossibly soft that I could have wept, she stumbled awkwardly as I pulled her towards the opening, towards freedom.  

Then she bit my hand!  More of a nip really than anything else.  So it was that as I pulled her through the opening into my world there was blood and a stifled cry of pain, but there was also a joy in finally holding her safe in my arms.  

Before I left, I glanced back and saw Ila, up in the tree watching us leave.  Maybe I should save her too? But how would I get her down? I pushed the thoughts to the side and retraced the steps I had taken alone before, now with my precious bundle.

I lay awake that night staring at Zeya next to me.  I had let her out of the crate after just a few seconds of crying, truth is I wanted to be near her.  She had curled up on the other side of the bed, tucking her nose into herself and fell asleep so quickly.  At some point I also drifted off to sleep.

The two red panda cubs escaped their enclosure last night through a hole in the fencing.  Police have been unable to locate one of the cubs, Zeya...The other cub, named Ila, climbed up a larger nearby tree. She didn't want to come down, so a team of zoo keepers and animal experts monitored her through the overnight hours. They were concerned that she might become startled and fall if they tried to go after her...By Thursday morning zoo keepers figured Ila was getting hungry for breakfast, so they decided to try and lure her down from the tree with her favorite food - apples.

I exited out of my news app and set down my phone and stroked Zeya’s fur.  We were together, that is what mattered now. 

It turns out that Zeya’s favorite food is also apples.  We have a lot to figure out, her and I. Things get torn up all around the apartment and the potty training is not going well, which means I have a lot to clean up.  She certainly distracts me from work, but she also distracts me from my spiraling thoughts. I’m careful to make sure she is out of sight for any Zoom meetings we have. 

 It is amazing how much more I have to do to take care of her and to actually take care of myself.  Life is more full now in every way. I have energy to take on each challenge, if nothing else, for her sake.  

Quoted news articles:

https://komonews.com/news/local/red-pandas-recaptured-after-escaping-from-woodland-park-zoo

https://www.cnn.com/2020/04/15/europe/german-zoo-crisis-slaughter-animals-pandemic-trnd/index.html