The rebuilding of a house in our east-side courtyard probably scattered a family of weasels. First I noticed a young weasel in our flower bed; it looked rather young to be roaming around by itself. I tried giving it some cat food, but it ran away and was not seen again.
The next day an even younger weasel baby was lying in our yard, wet on the neck, and surrounded by three curious stray cats. Its tail is barely an inch long. It looked so pitiable, I had to pick it up and bring it inside the house in a cardboard box. After feeding on some milk, millet porriage, and egg yoke, it seems to have recovered. So I decided to keep feeding it for a few days until it’s strong enough to face the world on its own again. Dawu is tolerating my efforts but he thinks we should let nature take its own course.
The next day I cleaned out a large pet carrying box and placed it in the yard but sheltered from rain. I gave the weasel a shoebox for sleeping quarters, a litter box which it doesn’t know how to use, and some kitten’s food specially bought for it. It devoured the food. I added a small piece of bread and small piece of cantaloupe. It devoured everything.
The cat carrying box has holes large enough for the weasel to get out, but so far it hasn’t left. Either it’s smart enough to know which side of the toast is buttered on, or it’s because the three stray cats are guarding the entrance day and night, hoping to get the kitten food that smells so good inside, or perhaps the baby itself.
If we believed in Chinese folklore, saving a weasel would give us good luck the rest of our lives. However, there is payback. In our next lives we will be persecuted. Fortunately we don’t believe in a next life.
