Two evolutionary scientists from Princeton University were on my tail.

The Grants.

They’d been following me for months with their binoculars. I pretended not to notice. I maintained identical life habits just so they would get bored. But they never got bored. For three decades they never got bored.

What did they know about me that I didn’t?

Ordinarily, I would let it go. But in this case I couldn’t. I raided their camp. I bobbed into their archives. I pecked at their diagrams. The data was endless. Scribbles. Daily notes. Photographs. Projections. All about me.

And this is what I found out: The Grants wanted to turn my imminent extinction into a coffee table book.

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