"Just a story"
In that I was born a rat, there is no tragedy. "In each creature there is a breathing of Gods". So my teacher spoke. Much worse that I was born a clever rat. And that is legible of outlined life, which one is conducted by me. People, for me there is nothing interesting and unpredictable. Therefore, with the very first weeks of the existence I tried to be pulled out from a cellar in searches of fresh impressions, other than fairly frightening images of the parents. To me in general there always was a special attention. The problem was that I was born white. Completely white, sparkling, as my teacher said. Everyone in our colony was dirty gray, and I was born white. The leaders marked it at once as a tag, and my mother was shaking every time when I departed on a walk from the house. She left out, that her Bella ? so I was called ? is very clever and cautious. Once in front of the house a corpse of one of the oldest rats was laying, crushed by an automobile. Upon seeing the turned up, insipid muzzle with the intestines out of the stomach? mother never could get rid of obsess ional memories and phobia, that something similar can happen to somebody from her family. And on the first place in the candidate list was always I.
As soon as I was taken off from mother?s chest, I have started having conversations with the teacher ? an aged rat with a nickname Mavr. He told me about the world in which we live, about the people who become a ruling race on the ground, about our antagonism with human civilization and at the same time - our relation to it. His stories, as I now realize, were rather poor, because, being pulled out from a cellar, I have seen so much interesting, new and mysterious, that the Mavr?s lessons seemed miserable abstracts of genuine life on ground. Nevertheless I am grateful to him for everything. Mavr was in his own way wise and independent, deferring from many other rats, who were primitive, as though programmed for eating, sleeping, having sex and dying.
Cellar, in which one our colony was leaving, belonged to a large, not very aged house. When I just started the travels among its floors I was drawn by unconscious curiosity. Only later, I have understood, that most interesting and relevant of all occupations in life is analyzing the humans. Because, how should I say?? Certainly, many of them are not too much different from the rats. As senselessly going through their days and as senselessly finishing them... But among the people there are such types, on the analysis of who it is not a pity to dedicate the whole mind and time given by God. We, certainly, have no such thing. It is a pity, that rats do not possess written culture. I could have kept numerous slips of paper containing notes about human characters and relations between the people. The house was divided into small cells - apartments. In each flat there was a special odors, sounds and things, its unique atmosphere. Sometimes watching whole day long the life of a human in an apartment, from a ventilation shaft, I found out a lot of new things, I listened to conversations of the people among themselves, their quarrels or their love for each other. I read the newspapers and books, watched TV, together with them. I opened a whole, huge new world, in which there were dramas mixed with farces, the meanness turns to goodness, and good intentions turn to catastrophes.
There were apartments, where I spent especially long time. One of them was on the second floor. There lived a family: mother, father, two children and a huge dog. A little bit later a third child and a turtle appeared. If it wouldn?t be for the interesting books, which they possessed, and remarkable records with music, I would have left a long time ago, because no one had such a ridiculous living hood such as this family, no one in the whole building. The dog frightened me with its size at first, turned out to be harmless and confused, as well as its owners. When the woman listened The