Seven little ones

Yesterday, by accident, my Kinsy Bear gave birth to seven babies, all of them healthy and alive. And that’s why I’ve been wondering why the Kinsy Bear was standing there in the corner, and I was going to make it. Well, since then, there have been seven more mouths for food. Honestly, they’re really good for food. The amount of one of them is equal to the amount of two of my peanuts. That’s the day I learned they were born, and I bought them again, and without them they dared to eat with rat cages all the time.

In fact, in the days that followed, it was always in my mind that the little ones looked like they were born with two rows of teeth that were completely different from those that I’ve seen before. They’ve been born in broad shape, they’ve got their teeth fixed since birth and they’re ready to eat my cage at any time. But these little ones are my favorite, and they look like the most human kind of rats. They’re not big, they’re small. There are no long tails, but there are two little eyes with gods. Their dementia often stings me, as if this tiny body contained an old soul, looking at me in secret across the barbed wire. Every time I look at those little black bean eyes, I think they’re doing it in silence: “What’s this big guy gonna bring us today?” It’s not like we’re going to have to do this.

These seven little demons, even though they have only just been born, have shown amazing destructive power and the vitality of life. The previously quiet wood crumb mountain in the cage is now a playground for them to fall over the sea. The mother had apparently suffered enough from this sudden battle, with a tatter of exhaustion visible from the original luminous body. Every time I nursed, seven little ones came up, like a bunch of robbers, and the mother bear had the dementia that they had to do, and saw me give birth to a few of the same diseases — after all, in order to feed these “deep depths”, my wallet was also going through a massive “wreck”.

However, it turns out that every time there’s a quiet night, listening to the sound of a small, lively and lively “single” in the cage, I feel like I’m going to have an unnamed feeling in my heart. I can’t help but get close to the cages and look at them with a weak light. Look at them with these two rows of little teeth, and they’re determined to explore the hardness of the cages, and they’re composing each other into a warm fur, and they’re even snoring with satisfaction because they take the warmth of the mother bear.

The four wretch rats in the next cage also seem to have noticed the arrival of the new neighbors, acting as if they were watching in silence these gruesome contestants of the Great Stomach King. And looking at the flowers, and looking at the healthy golden bear cubs that were born, this strong contrast often makes me wonder about the wonders of the species.

Life is really a wonderful experience. So seven living little lives were fully integrated into my day-to-day life, without warning, with their irrational appetites, the sound of the gnawing of the cages, and as if they could see through the eyes of the hearts. The days that follow are probably endlessly feeding, changing mats, cleaning up the battlegrounds that they are messing up. But as long as they grow up day by day and grow more soft and full of wool, and even if they will continue to devour my iron cage and consume my rat’s bag with no mercy in the future, I can only willingly continue to be this “supplier”. Who made me unresisted from the start of these hairy kids who have no tails and are smart like little people?