The rat Fluffy tucked under my desk, near my feet, and ate whole as I typed. It was a quiet night and I could hear the crunch of small bones being chewed over the quick, light tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. I tuned it out, my capacity for denial never greater than when a rat is being consumed at my feet.
He came in a while later with a little mouse, a tiny thing, not yet dead, in fact, still squeaking as he batted it behind the curtains. He eventually tired of it, and Rudy, who has never killed anything, never eaten anything but dry food, is suspicious even of treats, eyed it curiously, and gave it a good licking.
den of Beasts, which takes its name from the Tiergarten, or Animal Garden, Berlin's largest public park, he proves once again that a history lesson can be every bit as compelling as fiction and reveal far more about the meaning of what it is to be human.