Muskrat

Muskrat

The creek burbles beside you like it’s trying to tell a joke. You follow it into a wet, reedy clearing where dragonflies zigzag like tiny dancers. The medallion is wedged in the crook of a mud-slicked stone, half-submerged and glinting. You touch it.

A snort. Then a splash.

“You sure know how to ruin a perfectly good nap, human.”

The voice drips with sleepy sarcasm. A sleek, brown face pokes out from a thatch of reeds, water beading off whiskers and nose.

“Name’s Muskrat. Don’t bother asking what it means. I didn’t name me. I just am me.”

You apologize—sort of. He stretches, climbs halfway onto a mossy log, and sighs deeply, like the weight of the world is mostly damp fur and soggy feet.

“Everyone’s still mad at the raccoon, you know. Last week, somebody found their den rearranged like modern art. Blamed the raccoon. Day before, someone’s pinecone stash went missing—blamed the raccoon. Mothballs in the beehive? Raccoon. Mysterious footprints shaped like sardines? Also raccoon.”

He pauses and grins.

“Okay, that one was him. But sometimes?” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s me. I just let him take the heat. It’s a system that works.”

You can’t help but smile. He smirks wider.

“Look, someone’s gotta stir the pond. We can’t all be solemn owls and brooding wolves. A little chaos keeps things alive. Just like your medallions. You think they came here to explain things? No. They came to complicate things. Which is better, if you ask me.”

You ask him, “So… what do you think the medallions are for?”

He shrugs, gnaws on a reed.

“Same thing as jokes. Or thunderstorms. Or dancing in the rain until your paws wrinkle. Doesn’t have to mean something to matter. Maybe they’re an invitation. Or maybe they’re the punchline.”

You both sit for a moment, watching a heron struggle with something too big to swallow.

“Anyway,” he says, sinking back into the water, “tell the raccoon I owe him a thistle pie. For taking the blame for that beehive stunt. He’ll know what I mean.”

Then, with a blurp and a giggle, he’s gone.