1 inexplicable unless you have seen an abundance of Japanese animation or comics, though no less accurate for all of that.
It is the beginning of time, and all the animals are lined up before the Presence to receive their special gifts.
“Weasels,” says the Voice. “You shall receive the backing of a strange, mystical organization that may or may not have the best interests of the world at heart.”
The weasels scamper with joy. Then they scurry off to the secret underground base. They show their ID. They are escorted inside. There, the grand weasel glares down at them. He intends to wring every drop of performance from them. Their youthful idealism is simply grease for the gears.
“Prairie dogs,” says the Voice. “You shall receive the ability to transform from your normal, ordinary clothing into special fuku by barking.”
The prairie dogs peek up from their holes. Then they sink back down. It’s so embarrassing! Why couldn’t the Voice have chosen someone else for this socially awkward destiny?
“Elephants,” the Presence thunders. “You shall be stalked by a mysterious bishounen. He may be your lover, or he may be your greatest enemy.”
The elephants pragmatically consider this. One trumpets. Elephants don’t really like losing their head over mysterious bishounen. Then suddenly he appears. He has a swirly cape. He has a mask. He’s stunningly cute. All reservation is lost. Little hearts appear in the eyes of all the elephants. They toss their heads and trample one another in an attempt to get to him. Then, just as suddenly, he’s gone.
“Rabbits,” says the Voice. “You shall receive the ability to combine into a giant super-rabbit. One of you can form the head. Four of you, the legs. Optionally, you may combine with a sixth rabbit for reproductive purposes.”
The rabbits twitch their noses thoughtfully. That’s a useful power.
“Amoebae,” murmurs the Presence. “You shall go to special boarding schools, where each of you will have a harem of adoring aliens.”
The amoebae wriggle with glee. Then, one by one, they realize that they reproduce asexually. This diminishes their anticipation.
“Leeches,” the Voice asserts. “You shall be secretive and romantic vampires, drinking the blood of humanity. No one shall understand your pain.”
The leeches sink below the surface of the water, dodging the terrible rays of the sun.
The Voice drones on, and to each their gifts; and one to each and all the animal kinds; all save people, who hid from the shadow of the Presence and received no gift at all.
“It would have just been something perverted,” people mutter, but that’s really just sour grapes.