Meanwhile, Ade Oya takes advantage of the interval in which bodyguard and body-guarded leave The Lab unwatched,

except by organisms micro:
protozoa to bacteria,
whose cosmology,
even if puny in perspective,
looms supreme;


by countless insects,
compound eyes alert,


by a mismatched flock of bird-life
that awaits its new enclosure
much like inmates due to transfer
from their cells to the yard at large;
by those less fortunate
in their viewpoints
striped with shadows cast by iron:
the hapless bandicoot,
the barking deer,
the grunting babirusa,
join the gray macaque
plus others
pacing numbly
back and forth


and by
the octopus,
the fish,
the frog,
the snake,
the spotted lizard,
on exhibit,
inside glass containers,
as if incarceration stun-gunned all their instincts.


None of which concerns the AWOL rodent one iota. Having sprung himself again (the latch and padlocks trifling obstacles), Ade Oya straightaway commandeers his captor's daily log. He lifts its cover with his snout (helped by his forepaws), turns its pages (rather clumsily, if determinedly), skims their content (stops to think), 

then scampers off to roam his much-expanded realm.