I ran across the street with the tub, climbed over the fence and threw the tub into the air in a fit of madness. Thick snowflakes were now falling in the sky again. And, was it possible??! The mouse crouched glued to the corner of the tub, which had landed unharmed on the ground.
I grabbed the paper towels, that I had placed under the tub and lifted the small mouse weight onto the grass. Although I didn't touch the mouse, I shuddered. It seemed to me, as if I felt the little life of the mouse, her warmth, their misery like an imprint on my epidermis. Tears suddenly ran down my face. I was so stupidly porous and desperately needed to eat something. Mowgli slowly strolled towards us and looked at his toy with bored ambivalence. Would he kill the mouse or amuse himself to death with him, I wanted nothing more to do with it. What should I try again, to build a nest!? The animal emergency center had just explained it to me, a mouse, once attacked by the cat, belong to the cat! Or fate! Certainly not the human! For him, the mouse is just a vermin, a robber in the field, a cause of pandemics and perhaps another nickname for a hard-working, but gray people.
"A gray mouse. That means among us humans, when a person is inconspicuous, you know.” I started stuttering again. "Not cheeky, which is nowhere noticed, sich duckt. Then there is the mouse as a pet name for a love, but slightly limited woman. I was also honored with this nickname by one or the other Pinson. And then, Dear: the many experimental mice! Think! millions of them, you can't even imagine that! They are accepted, that they only feel gray, because they all look the same in people's eyes, also from the outside; degree. I mean, and: who knows, what a mouse feels inside! So I don't know. I think, to see fear in your pin-sized eyes. But who tells me, if that is not my own fear, that I am transferring to you? We are both in a similar position. Although I may have this artificial protection, as savages in a protected wilderness, it's getting to the bottom of both of us!
For sure, You say, that they care for the weak, and, especially in this particular situation, out there. You say: to protect the weakest, that is why they have now drawn the boundaries of their social cage so tightly. Do you think so?, Sun-Queen? Because I, I have a question to you, small! A question, maybe you can answer that for me, before Mowgli takes you to Nirvana: Suppose we have a tree there. He is extraordinarily old and voluptuous. It houses birds and other small animals such as mice, squirrels and even martens. But he also has a small rotten spot on him, which might grow; one must now all lush, Prune long-lived trees because of the danger, emanating from this one rotten spot? What do you mean? Are the healthy arms of such a tree not strong enough, to carry the sick arms? The sick arms could be entwined in the healthy arms, like vice versa, the healthy arms owe their perspective and position to the ill arms, who flank them. I mean, the healthy arms are in the majority, they need not fear the sick and weak poor, you don't need to fight them. Or am I wrong there?
Because in November they came and cut the tree down to its skeleton, fast. I then went out and climbed the huge mountain of branches and kindling, the powerful, bare trunk surrounded like a wreath. I collected as many branches as possible, some of which crumbled in my hands. Others were stocky, overgrown with moss, covered with lichen and mistletoe. Cones hung in some like grapes, of any age: light brown, still fresh and closed, wintered and perennial, brittle like dark brown leaves. Those covered with a green and white layer, Lazy and pupated. I covered the furniture in my apartment with the branches, where I was now a stranger, Ever since Pinson wanted me gone.
(2021)