The shelter had changed.
Since the early morning agreement with Spektor, the place was no longer a hideout. The liberated pets no longer patrolled with hate in their eyes — now they strolled, played, and some even wore scarves knitted by Marta. The old "FOR SALE" sign on the gate had been replaced with a new one:HUMAN-ANIMAL COEXISTENCE CENTER: Here, we train... the humans.
"Are you sure about this?" Alex asked, eyeing the line of people outside the shelter.
"Absolutely," Carlos replied, adjusting his sunglasses. "If humans want to prove they can live alongside intelligent pets, they need to pass basic coexistence protocols."
"You designed it?" Marta asked with suspicion.
"Me and Spektor," Carlos answered proudly.
Marta facepalmed.
"That explains the 'feline sarcasm resistance' test."
Out front, a group of volunteers waited. There was everything: responsible pet owners, kids with bunnies in their arms, a woman who talked to her parrot like it was her therapist, and even a man who claimed he raised a bilingual hamster.
Spektor, perched on a podium made from a repurposed doghouse, gave a mechanical throat-clearing.
"Welcome to the first training session for humans. Today you will be tested on emotional intelligence, free play capacity, respect for feline privacy, and of course, the ability to prepare food without toxic ingredients."
A shepherd dog barked in applause.
"Are we seriously doing this?" Marta muttered.
"If it doesn't work," Alex replied, "we can always call the mariachis and distract them with a party."
Max, wearing a small chalkboard around his neck labeled "Assistant Director", barked to start the session.
The first test was called "Multispecies Empathy." Humans had to sit in a room with various animals — from a narcissistic Persian cat to a hedgehog who only communicated in beeps — and try to establish non-verbal communication.
One by one, the humans failed spectacularly.
"I offered her premium kibble!" sobbed one woman. "And she hissed at me!"
"You touched her left whisker without permission," Marta explained. "That's like walking into her soul without knocking."
A kid managed to get a rabbit to climb onto his head. Passed with honors.
The second test was "Canine Emergency Simulation." The participant had to handle a chaotic situation: a dog barking urgently, a spilled bag of food, and a puppy spinning in circles at hyperspeed.
Carlos watched with a stopwatch.
"You have 60 seconds to calm the situation without yelling or using your phone," he instructed.
An influencer tried to film a TikTok of the chaos. He was ejected by the Persian cat himself — who apparently also had martial arts training.
Alex and Marta guided the volunteers who actually showed respect. A nine-year-old girl calmed a nervous chihuahua with gentle strokes. Passed. A young man made up a song to soothe an anxious beagle. Bonus points.
By noon, under a shaded tarp and a fruit tray shared by humans and turtles, the group took a break.
"I didn't think educating humans would be this hard," Marta said, wiping sweat off her forehead.
"You? I designed the 'respecting feline sleep schedule' test, and only one person passed," Carlos grumbled. "Only one didn't disturb a cat sleeping on a laptop!"
Max, in his observation booth, wore sunglasses and used a stamp sheet labeled "APPROVED" and "BETTER WITHOUT HUMAN."
"What do you think, buddy?" Alex asked.
Max looked over the group. Then, with his snout, stamped a big "NEEDS IMPROVEMENT" on the overall report.
In the afternoon, the final test: "Role Reversal."
Humans had to spend one full hour being treated like pets. They wore harmless tracking collars, communicated only through gestures, and depended on a "pet human" (a very patient cat) for treats.
"This is humiliating," a man muttered on all fours.
"Exactly," Spektor replied over the mic. "Humility, empathy, and patience. That's the foundation of interspecies relations."
Alex watched in awe as, little by little, the humans began to get it. They laughed, knelt down to play, looked animals in the eye without treating them like objects. Something was shifting.
Carlos approached.
"Don't say it too loud… but I think this is working."
Marta adjusted her curls.
"What do we do with those who don't pass?"
"We'll reassign them to reeducation workshops. Or release them in a park with signs that say 'no petting without consent.'"
Max barked. Alex nodded.
"You're the boss, chief."
By nightfall, only a dozen humans had passed all the tests. They were exhausted, happy, and covered in fur, mud, and kibble.
Spektor returned to the podium one last time.
"Evolution isn't just about circuits. It's about awareness. Today, some have taken the first step. It's not about domination. It's about mutual respect."
The animals applauded — or the equivalent: flapping wings, hopping feet, synchronized purring.
Carlos handed out digital certificates. Marta offered handmade treats. Alex threw a spontaneous party with solar lights and a speaker that only played reggaeton if Max didn't bark.
The shelter glowed. Not with technology. With coexistence.
Max climbed the stage. He looked around at everyone.
And barked once.
"We're on the right track."