Not based on true events

Once, in the city of Westend, there was a Least Weasel named Winter, and this weasel thought he could be victorious in a war against the world, and come from it without a scratch on his tiny body. That was a very foolish thing to think, for, after all, he had not performed any more spectacular feats than catching mice and running across intersections when the walking signal was displayed. Yes, these were displays of intelligence and skill, but it would hardly defeat the world. Yet he persisted in believing it was so, and dreaming that it was so while he slept in his crinkled tin can in a remote alley. Foolish little weasel! He was soon to discover that it was not so! This lesson against self-flattery began when Winter had an unpleasant awakening to an unpleasant smell. At first, the morning about was dim and unclear, for the sleep had not yet left his eyes, but when it sharpened, it refused to brighten. With a start, Winter leapt up and nearly tumbled down again upon the uneven surface which supported him, and there was a clank of cans at his movement. Far above was an opening in which the fresh sun shone, and looking about at the few places where it painted his surroundings, he realized what a pickle he was in. He was within a garbage truck! No wonder there was the stench and darkness and rust! His little can bed must have somehow been picked up by this monster of trash without awakening the bundle inside which was he. Winter immediately flew into a panic and dashed round in circles like a frantic dog, and attempted to leap up through the opening above, but all in vain. The motor continued to churn and the vehicle continued to plow forward. Suddenly, it came to a halt, nearly throwing Winter against its hard insides. The opening above widened and lengthened as a new load was prepared to be tossed within. Winter saw his chance, and took his chance, and with the effort of fear, he flew from vehicle, past the dumbfounded waste employee, and out into the open where he encountered- the world. The awful large, loud, metropolis world, with the feet stamping everywhere, motors roaring past, voices yelling and yammering, music blasting and blazing billboards of light illuminating the sky. He was in the thick of a crowd upon the walkway, and cowered down and nearer to a wall nearby with the thought: “ This is the world.” At first, poor Winter was petrified to the very concrete, and dared not move. But then he was forced to, for there came, screeching into view, a small red-hued car, and on its side was the words “ Animal Control”. Directly before him did it come to a clamorous halt, and two men, intimidating in appearance, leapt out and came towards the weasel who pressed himself nearer and nearer to the wall. Winter’s eyes widened as the one reached down to him with a gloved hand, and in the blink of an eye, dodged the grasp, and was away. Where he was to go, neither you nor he was to know, but all he could recollect was that he crossed a street without the walking signal being displayed, he dodged a dog whose vicious fangs were far larger than his own, and he ran headfirst into a cat who leapt at least three meters in the air in the surprise of the moment. As he rushed madly on, the streets quieter and less crowded,  until barely a vehicle or a person could be seen, but he passed through without noticing, his eyes and mind fixated on the patch of green a small ways away. It was a park, a nature park, where the trees were permitted to grow and pass on their knowledge to their young, and die naturally, and the shrubs were allowed to be shrubs and were not manicured into unnatural shapes, and the birds and animals were free to roam without being labelled pests and nuisances, and without any encroachment on their homes. Yes, there were people, but they were not there to blast music, but to listen, not to scroll on their cellphones, but to watch the ants march by, not to make money off of strange commercial ventures, but to make peace and tranquility in their heart. They understood that  the lucrative business was not a peaceful one, and they came to escape. It was in here that Winter finally came to a halt, whizzed about, and lay low in the grass to see if anyone had followed him. There was no one in pursuit. All was quiet and peaceful, and the joyful songs of numerous birds came to his ears. His rapid breathing then calmed, and he again felt his heart return to its natural rhythm, and knew that there was no need to conquer the great loud world. He was content with what peace left untouched.

Least Weasel
Mustela nivalis

This weasel, the Least Weasel, can not only be found in northern North America but also across Europe and Asia. It bears ruddy or dark brown upperparts including it limbs and tail, with a creamy belly for contrast. It is one of the smallest and most widespread of weasels, with a variety of sizes in different parts of its range. It can consume one-third of its body weight a day in small rodents and birds. Like some other of its relatives, in colder areas, this weasel turns white during the winter months. A native species.