The Weasel and the Marseille Tarologist

            There was once a weasel who got into the habit of sneaking into the house of a wise old Marseille tarologist late at night, to escape from owls, coyotes, and other predators hot on its tail, and to steal consumables too. Nimbly, she would pop in through the window and ransack the place, looking for leftover morsels of meat and other meals, to satisfy her insatiable appetite. In its haste to find mice, whose scents typically led her raids, she would often untidy papers and knock over objects precisely laid out, but the tarologist always found it amusing, in spite of the inconvenience it caused. Even when the progress of his studies were interrupted or halted, he found the trade-off to be quite fair, since she ate insects and other pests too, hidden deep in the mystic’s mysterious manor abode.

            Though they never really interacted outside of chance meetings past midnight, their quiet companionship grew over time, until one day, the man met the weasel face to face in a dream. Upright, it stood like a person, with a fierce intellect reflected in the glint of its eyes, and a masked mischief in its shifting, inquisitive stance. Without knowing how or why, he sensed this to be his nightly house mate, and eyes locked, they stared at one another for a good, long while, telepathically speaking volumes, without ever saying a word. This communication went beyond linguistic, into telestic, but once enough mirth and secrets had been shared, the weasel scurried over, dead set upon devouring him. Quietly, the man surrendered without putting up a fight. While she chewed on his brain stem, he calmly thought to himself, in infinite submission, I must abandon myself and become one with her, to accept the situation with love, and dissolve into the mink-like mustelid mammal. Without much pain, his head was chewed clean off, and crushed in the jaws of the carnivorous creature, who thusly gobbled down the delicious dead man, piece by piece, as he, now non-localized, stared back at the spectacle with as much astonishment as affection, only to witness the flexible furball unfurl into a grand galaxy. And the wise tarologist woke up, overjoyed.

            He found her lifeless body the next day.