Humans Ripped My Flesh

I am a weasel.

I prey after small vermin. I pounce upon them with small, sharp fangs. I drag them back to my den where I rip out their entrails, with which to savor and share with my young.

But...

Someone wants to accord me rights.
Someone wants me to roam unfettered, and live as they believe my nature dictates.
Someone wants to smugly chirp at the end of some Hollywood production, “No animals were harmed in the making of this docudrama.”

Yet...

I am still a weasel.

I still prey after small vermin. I still pounce upon them with small, sharp fangs. I still drag them back to my den where I rip out their entrails, with which to savor and share with my young.

So why? Why am I torn? Why am I exalted as the cuddly poster child for ‘animal innocence’ by insecure humans? Why is some neo-zoological nobility bestowed upon me when all I want to do is eat and reproduce?

Why have humans ripped my flesh?