Rat

Sting

How many times can one rat be caught? How many chances do I need? How many times do I have to learn?

One more time, it seems. This will be the last time. I will be a safe rat after this. I will live in a burrow all alone, or occasionally with a mate. I will not venture near the beasts or their nests. I will not steal their food.

I just need to wait until they let me out of this cage.

Yes, once more I am in a cage. It is the same as all the others: shiny, with plenty of room for my paws to stick out, but not enough room for me. Perhaps I can escape, but I have suffered enough. They will let me out.

These beasts are curious creatures. I do not claim to understand them, even though I have lived among them my entire life. It is a strange relationship: clearly, they hate me. But my life is so much easier with them. All the food I eat comes from them. The innards of my burrow is stolen from them. They keep the predators away. I did not realise how much I have grown to rely on them. They have changed me--am I subservient to them? I hope not, but it is undeniable that they have made my life easier.

And now I am in their hands, and that makes me uncomfortable. I am aware that I do not make their lives easier. They hate me. I do not completely understand why, but my understanding is not required. They hate me.

It is not long before my journey is complete. They have placed me in one of their mobile nests. I am used to its rumble. I have been in one before. Its steady drone lulls me into a sort of slumber, but when it stops I am jerked awake.

I can smell other creatures, but the scent is not fresh. Many creatures have been here, but I am the only one here at the moment. But where am I?

Another of the beasts' burrows. It is lit with harsh lighting that is uncomfortable for my eyes. I smell fear and distress and panic, and I cannot help but react to it. I circle the length of this cage, conscious that I cannot escape and even more conscious that I should have tried harder. Nobody can understand these beasts, and to think they have my best intentions at heart is folly.

There are more beasts now. They are all staring at me. There can be no denying that: I am the subject here. I have never been so keenly watched before. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I cannot read their faces, but the fact that they are interested in me does not bode well.

Once more, I dream of my burrow. I should have stayed in its warmth. I should have stayed asleep. I should not have ventured beyond its safety. I am a fool.

Now I am out of the cage, and the beast is holding me! This is my chance--my one chance. I reach out with all four paws and I extend my claws and I dry blood. The beast drops me. I land on a smooth floor, my legs all spread out. I am clumsy.

I recover quickly. I run. At first I do not move: the floor is too slick. But my claws are still extended and I find a purchase and then I race around. There are hiding places everywhere, but I do not know which one to choose. Do I run to my left, or do I run to my right? I hesitate.

A mistake.

Something falls on top of me. It is soft and scratchy all at once. Then I feel their presence again. They have grabbed me. I cannot scratch at them anymore--whatever is covering me is doing a thorough job of stopping me moving. I am helpless.

I can feel a draft on my rear-end, around my tail. My head is buried in the cloth. I can feel their fingers around my rump. I do not know what they plan to do.

A sting. Short and sharp. Now I am so very tired. I cannot think. My plans of escape are nothing. My burrow is so close. So very warm. It is right here, all around me. I shall just close my eyes.

So very tired.