The other day I saw a scene at the train station. The young mother loudly scolded her baby, who went to someone else's uncle for candy. The frightened mother yelled at the child, “This is a bad uncle. You know, it's bad!” And the boy kept crying: “Why bad?”
How can we teach our children to resist any violent action directed against them? How can you explain that you can't take anything from strangers and go to strangers without poisoning their lives with premature fear? How can we explain to them that they must call out loud for help and shout when they are being taken away, grabbed or offended by adults or peers? And how, without putting the child in danger, to explain what they should do when someone is offended by their side? It might be easier to start a conversation with a child with this unmade story that I wrote specifically for our site.
When I first saw this kitten, I realized that it was designed to catch mice. Knowledgeable people warned me in advance: “Take the one whose ears grow hair and has a brush at the tips of the brush; you can't go wrong.” Fortunately, the kitten I liked had a whole “grove” peeking out of its ears. This is the hunter I need, I thought happily and took the kitten home. They named him Tyson after the famous boxer Mike Tyson, so that even his name reflected his fighting character. And my expectations were met!
Tyson was two months old when he brought his first mouse to bed for me one morning. He sat proudly beside his prey and waited for my praise. And I praised him! This is how my cat turned from an ordinary kitten into a thunderstorm of mice. From time to time he would brag about his next victim and put it on my pillow, apparently so that I could see it better when I opened my eyes in the morning. His bragging and my gratitude knew no bounds. And I didn't feel a bit sorry for the mice that the generous Tice shared with me every morning. But one day everything changed. The first time this happened to me was in the fall. It is in autumn, during the first frost, that mice begin to look after a house in order to hide from the cold weather and survive the winter. This is what happened this time too. How did I know we had unexpected guests? OH! It was impossible not to understand this. The mice were very unceremonious and loud. In the morning I could hear them clapping and whispering. Sometimes it seemed to me that when I whispered outside the wall, I was beginning to distinguish between individual words and even names. One day, when my house was covered by the haze of night and all the birds suddenly stopped telling each other news at once, a thin voice rang out from behind the wall: “Richard! Patrick! Help your father dismantle the backpack. You'll play later.” At first I thought someone had Children's Radio on. I turned everything into a rumor to understand what I just heard.
“Patrick! Patrick! Don't get into this gap! You don't have to go there. An evil Cat lives there and he'll eat you.” “Mom, an angry and hungry Cat only appears in old children's books that our grandmother read to us. A true modern cat is always full and satisfied. Why does he want a little and bony Patrick?” And there was silence. I listened for a while and then fell asleep. I dreamed of mice entering my house, sorting their things out, placing books on my shelves. I remember thinking in my sleep: “I wonder what mice read these days?”
The next morning, I opened my eyes and met Tyson's eye, who had never woken me up by himself, but had always been patiently waiting for me to wake up. I already knew the reason for his proud and waiting look and straight posture. Gently squinting my eyes, I saw on the pillow, ten centimeters from my nose, a little mouse that was so small that my heart was pinched with pity for him. Of course, I praised the cat, but cats scraped my heart out. And for some reason I didn't want him to catch mice anymore. That same evening, when I fell asleep, I heard crying behind the wall. Someone shouted through tears, “Patrick! Where is our poor Patrick?!” I must say that I didn't sleep that night. I've been thinking about how the world is not fair. A cat's vocation is to catch mice. He is a real domestic predator, and I was proud of him until I heard a whisper outside the wall and imagined poor Patrick's family. I hadn't heard any more sounds outside the wall since that night, and Tyson didn't bring mice anymore, which I was very happy about. Winter has passed and her dull lullabies have stopped. The birds are worried again—it's time to get ready for spring! And one day like this, when winter was snowing like a yoga mat to go to distant lands until next year, I heard Tyson jump off. The thing is that Tyson has grown up to become a big, beautiful and fluffy cat. He rarely runs around the house, but when he jumps off from somewhere, the house shakes, the dishes ring, and the books fly off the bookshelves by themselves. This time I dodged a book flying at my head just as Tyson jumped off. Then there was silence. I went into the room and saw that Tyson had caught a mouse. He kept it in his teeth and looked at me very unkindly, as if he were saying, “Don't bother me! I'm not done yet. I'll bring it later.” I looked at it and ran away. And I stepped back in dismay, not knowing what to do. Then I started trying to persuade myself: “A cat is a predator, a mouse is a victim. This is how nature works. How can I disrupt the natural course of things.” That's what I thought, hoping it would all be over very quickly. Suddenly there was a scream from the next room. It was a cry for help. I jumped up and in three jumps I found myself where my wonderful cat was getting ready to deal with his victim. At that moment, he was doing what all predators do with their prey when they're full and bored. Tyson let the mouse out of his mouth but controlled all his movements. The mouse ran along the wall and... screamed. I was sure he was the one who was calling for help because he had seen me from Tyson's mouth a few minutes ago. My heart could not stand it, and having at once violated both the natural course of things and all the laws of nature, I grabbed the cat, which was escaping and trembling with impatience. Suddenly, Tyson froze, amazed at what he saw. We both watched, but with different feelings, as Richard (and that was him, poor Patrick's brother) ran along the wall and dived into the little crevice behind the baseboard. I was happy and tried to avoid seeing a cat all day long. And he was watching. Oh, how he looked at me! And then I thought, what would happen to Richard the mouse if he hadn't screamed loudly and asked for help? I would most likely find his lifeless body on my pillow the next morning. “And how important it is,” I thought, “to come to the aid of someone who is being hurt, who is being cornered in time.
We haven't had mice in our house since then. I stopped hearing them rustling behind the wall. I think Richard, frightened, caught his breath and told his family what had happened to him, and they quickly packed up and went to the house next door, where Tyson's cat was not present.
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