When I was very little, all I could think about or talk about was mice. Their tiny ears. Their cute bead eyes. Their pink noses.
Mommy didn't like mice so much. She bought traps and things to hurt them with, which I didn't like.
One day mommy brought me to the hunting store and asked me to pick out a BB gun. I was excited, daddy said I could shoot cans off my backyard fence.
Later, mommy she needed to borrow my BB gun. To shoot a wasp nest, she said. I secretly followed her and saw her creep down into the cellar.
I followed her, I was curious to see the nest. When I snuck into the cellar, I didn't see any wasps.
I saw mommy standing over a metal cage, but the it was hard to see what was inside. She aimed and shot, and the next thing I knew she was pulling a little dead mouse from the cage.
When she saw me watching, she exclaimed in surprise and dropped the mouse. She asked loudly why I had stayed so quiet and made me leave the cellar.
Later, she came and talked to me much nicer, in a gentle voice. She told me the mouse was in a better place, where all its dreams came true. I believed her.
A couple weeks later, a lot of grown ups came to the house. They made daddy answer a lot of questions, and asked me some too. Like, did mom and dad fight a lot? Did they yell? Did daddy ever hurt mommy?
No, I said.
And at the party with all the people wearing black, I heard someone whisper to someone else that my mother had ingested rat poison, enough to kill.
I turned to them and told them what I knew would make them feel better. Mommy was in a better place.
One where all her dreams came true.