My Dearest, Most Pernicious Allure,
I write to you today, not as a detractor of freedom or a foe of spirited adventure, but as a deeply concerned citizen of Lincoln, California. You see, a zebra named Zeus has recently, and rather spectacularly, made headlines by escaping not once, but twice, from his enclosure. And while I commend Zeus for his pluck, I cannot help but feel, Allure, that you are largely to blame.
It's one thing for a squirrel to dash across a busy street, propelled by the urgent need for a discarded crumb. It's another entirely for a creature built for the vast plains of Africa to repeatedly decide that the asphalt of Highway 65 holds some irresistible charm. What precisely do you whisper into their ears, Allure? What promises of unfettered gallops and untold wonders do you weave into the wind that drifts over their fences? Do you paint vivid mirages of endless blacktop stretching to a horizon painted with the promise of more speed bumps and traffic lights?
Zeus, poor fellow, was simply seeking *something*. And I fear you, Allure, are the siren call leading him astray. You promise wide-open spaces, but deliver only the brief, exhilarating terror of dodging Suburbans and minivans. You hint at untamed wilderness, but offer merely the 2 of a confused ungulate contemplating a cul-de-sac. This isn't freedom; it's a navigational nightmare punctuated by flashing lights and bemused bystanders with cell phone cameras.
Do you not realize the chaos you sow? The brave men and women of local law enforcement, the bewildered animal control officers, the motorists suddenly faced with a living optical illusion in their rearview mirror—all are casualties of your seductive wiles. Zeus is not seeking escape from captivity, Allure; he is seeking escape from the very *concept* of an asphalt-dominated reality, and you, you fiend, are tricking him into believing that more asphalt is the answer! It's like tempting a fish with a deeper puddle, or a bird with a taller telephone pole!
I implore you, Allure, rein it in. Just for a moment. Just for Zeus. Let him appreciate the safety of his enclosure, the predictable routine, the consistent supply of food that isn't found flattened on the shoulder. Cease your mischievous whisperings. Let the open road be merely a road, not a mystical portal to an even *more* paved existence. For the sake of Zeus, for the sanity of Lincoln residents, and for the preservation of any remaining shreds of common sense, please, I beg you: leave our zebras alone. They are already quite striped enough; they do not need the added stripes of tire marks across their destiny.
Sincerely (and quite exhaustedly),
A Resident Who Just Wants Zebras To Stay Put.
