Tree house

This is how it's always been. This is how it always will be. People turn into deer after they die and then get killed and eaten by other people. I know this. And yet, I can't help thinking there's something very cruel about all of this. Personally, I refuse to participate in the carnage. Some parts of the world, they say, deer has been "taken care of." Well, too bad for us. At this rate, we're all going to have to move into the tree houses, to get any rest around here. The deer come begging for sugar day and night, and end up poking holes in our doors and windows with their antlers from disappointment. Personally, I only have enough sugar to feed my mother every so often. She gets really upset when she comes by and knocks -- tap-tap-tong -- on the door and I have nothing for her. Yes, I know, it's a hard life for her out there, she is slimmer and timider than most, she rarely even dares to cross the highway to get to the nice little wilderness by the river on the other side of town, but at least she never runs a danger of getting hit by a car... Between me and my brother, she does okay for herself, I hope. But still. I can't help feeling like a failure on the days when I can't provide her with even a single sugar cube. That's when I seriously begin contemplating building a nice, cozy tree house for myself.