Unserious postmodern paintings.

The panther had inherited the chair, the book, and the inexplicable urge to read about particulate matter after its previous owner vanished…

The sparrow had learned to scroll before it could fly properly, inheriting the phone from a child who left it open on…

The cormorant had been flying for seventeen hours, not because it was migrating, but because it had forgotten how to land. It…

He had caught nothing all morning, not because the fish were shy, but because he had forgotten to bring bait, or a…

The squirrel had not chosen the sweater; it had been left behind by the previous tenant, a retired librarian who believed in…

The tinkerbird had been there for three days, according to the dust patterns. It did not eat, did not sing, did not…

The chicken had been waiting for the punchline for seventeen years. It didn’t know what the joke was, only that everyone else…

The lyrebird had spent three years perfecting the microwave’s beep, the hum of the refrigerator, and the sigh of the radiator—each sound…

The troupial had been found nesting in the hatbox of a deceased vaudeville tailor, and though no one remembered dressing it, the…

The horse had been told, once, that oats were for eating. It remembered this. It did not remember why the bale said…

The coot had been promoted to Junior Compliance Officer three weeks prior, a title that came with the briefcase and the clipboard…

Bernard had retired from active infestation after thirty-two years on the same scalp, though he still kept his union card and a…