Tiger Reading But Food | My 🐤 and "The Weasel in the Attic"

[Trigger Warning: There are details of pet/animal abuse, sorry. 】

Owner,

It seems like you have never cried for me since March 12, 1998, but sadness happens every year. Every March 12th after that, you would pick a bouquet of yellow jasmine flowers in the garden and place them silently on the ground where I was buried. You hoped that I could feel the weight of the bouquet of jasmine flowers. In fact, I You can feel my weight in your heart even more. That bouquet of winter jasmine flowers lasted for about four or five years. Later, you came too, but you didn’t come to see me often because you moved. But as long as you come, I can feel you when you pass by the small piece of land where I am buried. . I also know that your childhood is buried in that small piece of land, as well as a dead little toad, day lilies that grow every year, roses that don’t bloom every year, some half-dead sunflowers🌻 and a large water tank ⋯⋯The little toad and I are fine. Dust will return to dust, and dust will return to dust.

Going forward three months ago, I was carried in a plastic bag by a college student sister. She saw that I was very cute, so she picked me out of the hawker's box and bought me back. She actually didn't even think about it. Her dormitory doesn't allow pets and she doesn't have the conditions to raise me. However, she saw you walking alone on the way home from school. She was very happy when she gave me to you, because she knew she had chosen the right person for me and you would take good care of me. She told you when she gave me to you, "You can't keep chickens in the dormitory. I bought this chick because I saw it was too cute. I didn't think that even if the dormitory allowed chickens to be raised, I wouldn't have food to feed them." It’s just a little chicken.” You took it from me in a daze and held it in your hands, not daring to relax for a moment.

The weather in the north is very cold in January. You hold my feet with your left hand and hold them with your right hand. You are afraid that I will catch a cold from the biting cold wind in the middle. But you don’t know that your palms are sweaty because of your nervousness. My little body was all wet, making me shiver all the way. 😄

I'm very happy that you and your family took me in. Although I don't have a name until my death, you always call me "Little Chicken🐤". Isn't that my name? As soon as I hear chicken, chicken, I will chase you happily, and I also like to get into your or your mother's trouser legs. I was actually very young at that time. I didn't know that I should have a chicken mother, but it was really I truly regard you and your mother as my own mothers, so I always chase you.

I know that I often scream at the top of my lungs. You were young at that time and didn’t know that I was too hungry. You thought I was just playing with you, so you always made me happy. However, what I didn't expect was that your mother didn't like my screams at all. She thought I was troublesome and noisy. But I'm hungry! Master, I know that if you are given another chance to meet me now, you will definitely be able to raise me, because you know why I barked, and even if you don't know, you will guess it. But in 1998, even you were a child who was completely dependent on your mother. All she could give you was everything...

Ever since you had me, you have been worried every day when you go to school, and come home as quickly as possible after school. Firstly, because you miss me, want to see me, play with me, and feed me, and also because you are afraid of me. Being chased onto the balcony by your mother. In January and even February in the north, temperatures hover around zero or below zero, and there is late spring cold from time to time. Your mother threatened you several times that if you didn’t do what she said, you would drive me to the balcony and freeze to death. It wasn't just a threat, you saw her do it in front of you, euphemistically saying, "The chicken pooped everywhere and I drove it to the balcony so I could clean it up." While on the balcony I I will tremble, I really hope you can protect me, but maybe you can’t even protect yourself. It was so cold on the open balcony. You looked at me from the door, and I will always remember your frightened eyes, because you were still afraid that I would jump down from the railings of the balcony. Thank you for worrying about me like this. In fact, you have always been such a caring child, not at all what your mother pictured you to be.

One time your school gave you an assignment to write a short essay on what I love most, and you wrote "my little chicken". The teacher especially appreciated your composition and called you to the podium to read your "Chicken Essay" to the whole class. You read the essay about how you love and take care of chickens, but you felt very embarrassed inside. , because that essay was actually written by your mother for you. I don’t know how a woman who often threatens to throw me out can turn to ghostwriting a short essay in your tone, and write it with great emotion, as if the tender love has always come from her. Maybe you don’t understand it when you are standing in front of the podium reading the composition.

Master, you have a very good memory, I have always known that. You will always remember the way you held me and brought me home for the first time. My hair was soaked with sweat from your hands. You always remember the gray-white diary in your hand. "Chicken Composition" made it heavy, as if it was filled with lies and distortions and was teetering on the edge of collapse.

When you were a child, your cousin was often slapped by his mother. He may have turned this long-term humiliation and anger into the power to abuse small animals. When he came to your house that time, he secretly filled the lid of a drink bottle with washing powder and fed it to me. I immediately had diarrhea after eating it. Fortunately, you saw me and saved me. You have always been worried about me and are even more afraid. You are afraid that I will fall ill after eating the washing powder your cousin gave you, and your already weak body will suddenly be unable to hold on. But it doesn't seem like I'm affected too much.

In your memory, my death is connected with your mother, but because the whole process was too terrifying, you may not want to really see such a connection, so for ten or twenty years, I buried this question and memory so deeply, I didn’t dare to ask, I didn’t dare to think, but I always felt that I remembered it because my mother finally kicked me out of the balcony and made me freeze for a long time in the sub-zero weather on the balcony. He died because of the cold. Have you always been unwilling to accept this reality? But you know that your memory is almost never missed. In the end, I had to give everything to the bunch of winter jasmine flowers.

I know it all. Please trust your feelings and memory.

"Owner":

We are leaving and never coming back. From the night you heard from your friend who was visiting you at home about how to deal with the weasel, our family decided to leave immediately and never look back. Actually, I didn’t know that our existence has brought you so many skin allergies. The reason our whole family appeared in the attic is because we thought that you were like the last family that moved away and were not as cruel as other villagers and could treat us as pets. Treat it generally.

You may have heard the story your friend told you. When she was a child, she witnessed her grandparents drowning a mother weasel they caught in front of her eyes. She said she would never forget the tragedy of that mother weasel in her life. The cry was heartbreaking and penetrated the entire universe. Her grandparents later proudly told her that only by killing the mother weasel would the eavesdropping weasel family be alerted, and the weasel children and father weasel would escape without looking back. If you catch a weasel baby, no matter how you deal with it, the weasel father and mother will rush into the room like crazy to save it, which will not achieve the effect of getting rid of the weasel from the house forever. We also saw her expression when she said this, and it was still a frightened and uneasy expression.

However, what we did not expect was that after hearing this story, you would actually want to treat us in the same way. The night we realized this, none of our family slept. We regretted it and sighed over and over again, feeling let down. We always thought that we could simply live with you, and even thought that you were our masters and that we only had our place in the attic. Unexpectedly, that terrible story turned out to be a source of inspiration for you.

Master, to be honest, this walk will lead you directly to the forest. Because we no longer know how to trust you humans, nor how to get along with each other. Perhaps we are going back to the past of stealing chickens. 😮‍💨We settled in this house before you did, and you came and prepared to kill our mother in such a cruel way, it breaks our hearts. You were also chatting and laughing with your friends, talking about how you kept a lot of tropical fish at home...

Although we are weasels, we should not endure such cruel killings. For a long time, I thought it was a miracle that the people living in this house could get along with us, but it turned out that we were too naive. How we want to coexist with you humans may still be a topic worth discussing. There are no living things on Mars, but you want to colonize it. Isn’t that a good thing? We also need to rethink our position. You may not be our masters from the beginning.

In March, I said that I would write more works by women. Let’s start with Hiroko Oyamada. I also happened to see @Jeger ’s pet topic, so the first part comes from my chick🐤. I have never stopped. I miss you , long overdued words; the second part is extended from "The Weasel in the Attic" by Hiroko Oyamada, which can be regarded as filling in the open ending of the book. This makes me feel better, lest my imagination takes me to dark corners.

The chicken that I have raised for three months🐤 is the only pet I have had a long and stable relationship with. Everything is vivid in my mind, except for the chicken that was locked up in the cold wind, which I don’t want to remember. fragment. March 12th is the anniversary of Chicken's death. I think of the Chicken's crown that has never been erect. I feel sad and burst into tears before I even pick up the pen. After so many years, I must not be crying over the death of Chicken. What I cried about was the cruel treatment of the chicken and my powerlessness. As a child, I felt so helpless when faced with all the above, and I had lost all ability to cry out. Such an experience will change a person forever. I have never stopped missing the chicken🐤. If I hadn’t put that bouquet of winter jasmine flowers, I would still miss him. Maybe, the death of the chicken is also the process of gradual loss of the soft and delicate self. When I slowly call her back, only this time, she is a tougher version of myself. (I bought a pot of yellow longevity flowers)

As for "The Weasel in the Attic", I didn't pay much attention to it. I thought it was just a combination of three interrelated short stories and I read it in one and a half hours. However, the second story "The Weasel in the Attic" was simply a piece of fiction. Horror story 😱. Hiroko Oyamada describes in chilling detail the relationship between friends and the friend's recollection of how a weasel in the attic of his childhood home was disposed of. Hiroko Oyamada placed the abuse of the weasel on the weasel mother, and once again projected this abuse and the use of the parent-child relationship on the friend who had been unable to have a child for a long time. Now I feel more empathy. I couldn't let go after reading it for a long time. I didn't know how humans could be so cruel. But from my words and my own experience, I also know that humans can really be so cruel, so unintentional, and enjoy destroying, destroying, and hurting in this way. fun of". This is a feeling that makes me infinitely desperate. However, as I gradually saw my soft and delicate heart, I seemed to see hope, at least hope for me and my family.

Thank you again @Jeger for making this book review a little different, thank you @JohnShao for being the sponsor 🙏