There was this mouse that lived at my cabin. I heard it sometimes walking around in the night as I slept on the floor alone in my shack in the forest. Sometimes I would stomp the floor to tell it to stay away while I slept and it listened. It never bugged me or came too close and I began to think of this mouse as my friend. I never put up mouse traps and in return they never ate my noodles.
They would come and go as they pleased and sometimes chew up curtains that I didn't like anyway. That mouse saved my life.
It ate a poisoned peanut minutes before I ate it myself. I cursed the mouse for being so reckless and taking my peanuts but in the night as I layed in the dark that mouse died a horrific death. I could hear it tap dancing and convulsing above my head inside the ceiling. I listened but could do nothing because I am not a mouse doctor or a sheep herder or an animal whisperer. It made me sick.
I left some pizza on an upside down silver pot that reminds me of the baby I lost for them to eat. I hope they eat it because I want them to know how much they mean to me, everybody likes pizza. Even mice.