At some unlucky point in my random life, I was living in Bromley, UK.
It was in a tiny ground-floor flat covered in damp and mould whose double-glazed windows served no functional purpose when it came to preventing London Road traffic noise pollution from invading the house.
I always thought it made no sense.
I mean, to live in Bromely, just two yards away from London but still not in London, in a house located in London Road.
The only good thing was that I was finally able to have a garden I equipped with feeders for a squirrel that used to visit me every day at 4 pm.
All I got from having a garden equipped with feeders has been witnessing extended families of rats inviting themselves to the banquet and sticking around forever even after the party was over.
The seeds were meant for you ONLY.
My 11 months in Bromley were spent fighting against mould, damp and rats, which I eventually found have something in common: no matter how long and how well you clean around, they won’t go away.
The only that went away and never came back was the squirrel.
The damped walls would have benefitted from more fresh air coming from outside, but as soon as you opened the garden door, gangs of shameless rats would get in without you even noticing them – because I tell you mate, if a rat doesn’t want you to see him, you won’t.
Even if he’s climbing the screen of the TV you’re watching right now.
I was literally dead in the water and stuck into this abominable apartment under overpriced early-resignation penalties.
The landlord didn’t allow any pets in, so getting a cat wasn’t even an option.
Soon it became clear that the only way to get rid of rats was pest control – being it rate traps, rat poison, rat glue or other terrifying tools.
I wouldn’t describe myself as an animalist, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t kill living creatures, I couldn’t raise a finger to exterminate cute mammals like these, with their little pink fingers and long tails and their fucking clever shiny eyes.
I went nuts.
I would say things like that the planet originally belonged to animals, that they were created by God and so on.
I don’t know if I was in the middle of some sort of mystical enlightenment or it was just a nervous breakdown, but I refused to kill these little bastards.
When, after nearly a year, I moved away from that place and the man who’d dragged me there, the garden door was open.
I didn’t want my tears to steam the door glass, and the door remained open for all the time needed to squeeze three years of life, happiness and rain into four suitcases.
When I’d done packing, I finally looked up.
With their little noses against the glass, they looked like worried war orphans.
The door was still open but they wouldn’t try to get in.
Behind them, on the top of the empty feeder, the old squirrel was looking at me.
I hadn’t seen him in ages.
I don’t know who decided on the difference between pets from a pest.
I don’t know who said that only certain animals can feel love or pain.
But rare is the human who is able to read an open door.
cute lovely mouse rat
from The Shortlisted https://ift.tt/2SCVtX6
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