Rat

Tree

The tree was tall. I could hardly see the foliage at its top. It was an old tree, full of scars. It had a hollow near its centre, large and dark.

The hollow beckoned.

I licked my lips, because a hollow in a tree meant one thing at this season: eggs, and plenty of them. Is there any better food than a stolen egg from a bird? I do not believe there is.

And so I started climbing the tree.

There is much to admire in trees. They have so much life in them, and not just from the tree itself. Ants and bugs live under the bark, fungus grows from odd places, moss can be seen in bits here and there, and then there are the creatures that live in the tree itself: birds, mostly, but other creatures that are similar to myself also live in these natural wonders.

But none of these are food. At least, not to me. And so I climbed.

It was tough going at times. The bark was loose under my claws. At times it would come loose and I fell. I was able to grab onto more bark and stop myself from tumbling to the ground.

Most of the time. Once I fell all the way. That hurt, but I did not give up. The hollow still beckoned, and the prize was worth it.

I licked my lips and kept climbing.

Soon I was at the hollow. I hesitated before climbing over the lip and into the dark within. I waited and listened. Was anybody home? I didn't think so--it was far too quiet in there. It might as well have been a tomb.

I risked a look around behind me. Were there any winged menaces flying in? No, the area was clear. I was alone. I was safe. The eggs were not.

I was inside that hollow as quick as a flash. If anything had been watching--and I was confident that they weren't--they would hardly have seen me; just a flash of colour and that was all.

Now I was in the hollow, and there were indeed eggs. There were five of them, and they were big ones. They would keep me full for a week.

I picked up the first egg. It was round and smooth. I grabbed onto it with my mouth and bit down. Nothing happened at first, and then my mouth slid off and the egg rolled around in the hollow and that was all. I was foiled.

But I was never one to give up so easily, so I tried again, and a third time. I tried one of the other eggs. Nothing--none of them broke. I was just as hungry as I had been a few moments earlier.

I sat down and came up with a plan. It did not take long: hunger is a great motivator to sharpen the mind, and I needed to eat--these eggs were the perfect food if I could just break them open.

And, just like that, a plan formed in my mind.

I would drop the eggs from the lip of the hollow, down to the ground. That would break them. Happy with my plan, I picked up one of the eggs and carried it to the edge. Something dark blocked my way--something dark with wings.

Mumma-bird had come home.

Now I had a choice: save my own skin, or steal the egg. The choice was easy--of course I stole the egg.

I hurried to the edge of the hollow, before the bird could react. The egg was in my paws; a quick heave and it was over the edge. It tumbled down, down, down. I chased it.

The bird chased it, too.

I raced down the tree. Bark flew away from my feet as my claws shredded it as I ran. It was all I could do to cling on and not fall myself. The egg would hit the ground in three, two, one--

--the mother bird grabbed the egg, swooped upwards. My dinner was taken from me. I reached the ground, watched as the bird returned to its nest. It was done.

No, I had spoken too soon: the mother bird fumbled and dropped her egg. It tumbled down, oh so fast. The bird just watched. She knew it was hopeless.

The egg hit the ground. It cracked. Fresh, glorious egg yolk dribbled out. I hurried over and began to feed.

This was a feast.