Phoebe froze, poised mid-reach for a bottle of hydrocodone. She just heard something move. Something big. Had to be a wild animal. 

Phoebe was well-trained for this. Every territorial animal does not like surprises: such as a scared human sneaking around in the pharmacy of a Super Walmart, looting for some much-needed medications. An aggressive one, like the escaped hamadryas baboons, a matriarchal species whose alphas do [i]not[/i] like other women, would attack if they deemed Phoebe too close. This wasn't them, however. Troops of baboons make too much racket. No, this was a solitary animal. 

It was walking closer. Not too close, but not far enough for Phoebe's taste. Phoebe took the bottle, slid it into her backpack, then hid under the counter, her back to the wall. No animal could see her, and hopefully this one couldn't smell her. She pulled out her baseball bat just in case. It saved her life many times, and had dents to show it. The last attacker, a starved dog, left some teeth marks in the bat where she smashed it's jaw. That was a grisly sight. Phoebe was largely neutral on animal rights, but that made her feel so guilty. After all, it just wanted her sack of food, not her. It only wanted to eat, just like her.