I opened the grapefruit and a mouse stumbled out, soaked and chilled through. I put on my gardening gloves and picked it up carefully. I could feel it shivering though the thick fur-lined leather and I placed it on the carpet beneath the radiator. Five minutes later it started to recover and stood up and shook itself out. Then it belched up a cherry pit and scurried through a crack in the wall. I took the cherry pit to be a token of thanks and planted it in the small garden in front of my grandparents’ house. It grew into a tree and, a few years later, began to bear fruit. I picked the first ripe cherry and broke it open between my fingers. Inside was a tiny baby alligator, which I brought home. I cared for it in my bathroom sink, content to brush my teeth in the kitchen for a while. When the alligator was nine inches long, I realized it needed a bigger home, so I carried it down to the swamp and let it go. It slid down into the water, but returned ten seconds later with a small wheel of cheese which it placed at my feet. I brought the cheese home and cut it up. That evening, I served it with wine and crackers to those of my friends who have an appreciation for animals and food, and related this story as we ate.