Of Mice and Men

I walk out through the damp grass across the yard to the rain barrel to get fresh water for the chickens. A leak in the spigot I have yet to fix requires a large white bucket be kept under the tap to catch the dripping water. 

I look down into the bucket to see if there is enough water to dip into, and I see you there standing on your hind legs, hugging the bucket wall so that you keep your head just above the few inches of water there. I have a flash of anger. It is you who has invaded my chicken run. When I starved you out of there by removing the food and water before dark, you made your way into my house reminding me that even a tiny crack gives passage to guests you’d rather not have.

But then I see how small and vulnerable you are. You look up at me without fear so much as acceptance. We both know that I have the power here. You dove in without a care, but there’s no way you can scale the steep wall of the bucket on your own. I wonder how long you’ve been silently holding yourself up. Long enough to know you’re in too deep. 

Of course I will help you, even though you’ve trespassed. In a quick gesture, I tip the bucket sideways so that you spill out into the grass. The water washes over you and, for a moment, you stand there soaked–catching your breath and getting your bearings. Then, without even a quick glance over your shoulder, you scurry under the studio deck where it is dark and you are just out of my reach, never to make yourself known again.

Just a mouse, not a rat.

Kim Becomes Light 2019