Me and Mr. Mouse

There it was. Right in the middle of the stove top. A mouse turd. We have one of them drop-ins. Except for the oven compartment and the stove eye compartment and a drawer at the bottom where we keep some frying pans, there is no cabinet. The cabinet is actually the kitchen cabinets. I pulled the pan drawer open. Just in time to see the little bugger disappear into the darkness. Somewhere into the back reaches of the cabinets where unmentionables are stored. And unmentionables happen. Rats fucking! Nesting!! Vermin!!! Disease spreading!!!! Unknowns happening!!!!! Scary shit!!!!!!

Having cats around we've never been bothered much by rodents in the house except for the carcasses of the ones they bring in as gifts. Its in their DNA I guess. Just like squirrels do what squirrels do when they store nuts.

But this guy made it past the guard. Had he moved in? I kept an eye out for it for a couple days and then forgot about it. Left a loaf of bread on the counter overnight. Next morning I walked in the kitchen just in time to see the little bugger disappear down one of the eyes. There was a nice neat hole in the corner of the bread wrapper. I didn't mind the missing little bit of bread. Or the minor mess of crumbs. But there was another one right in the middle of the stove top.

Another turd!

I can live with the squirrels dropping turds on the rail of the deck outside. I might even be able to live with most anything as long as its not shitting on my stove! So I put out one of those mouse catchers that was left by the previous house owners. Plunked it right down on the cabinet where the bread had been. Next day, sure enough, the catcher had caught. It was one of those sticky things. Mr Mouse was alive and squirmin'. And the more he squirmed the stucker he got.

Then it happened. He caught my eye with his. Or maybe he was a she. I didn't check. But I couldn't look away either. There was a sadness. A hopelessness. A cry for help. A connection between one living thing that was in trouble and another. He'd look up at me. Then down at his little paws mired in the tar. Then back up at me. Somehow this little mouse knew he was toast. I could see it in his face. I swear, I saw tears in his eyes and stream down his little face. I just stood there mesmerized. Taken by his plight which he communicated to me on some level.

Then a wave of compassion moved through me and I thought, maybe I can take him outside and turn him loose. But those stickies grab like magnets. I'd never used one before. He was mired in the tar beyond rescue and I knew it. And I certainly hadn't considered these consequences. Or this reaction. That I couldn't do something that would determine the fate of another living creature and just put it out of mind. That I'd actually have to follow through. Pull the trigger so to speak. Face it. Deal with it. Take it to completion. Consciously.

And it was as if he knew I knew. He even looked sad for me. For my plight too. As if he knew I couldn't help him. As if he knew I hadn't thought the whole thing through. As if he knew I'd learn that it, that he, that life itself, actually mattered to me. That he mattered. That life mattered. That if I had a choice to let him live I'd make it on his behalf. And because I was helpless too he was actually sad for me. Sad for both of us.

And then I realized I was too. It couldn't just end here. I couldn't just leave him squirming on the counter. And I couldn't just pitch him out in the yard stuck and helpless to defend himself. To slowly starve to death. Or become dinner for Mr Hawk. Or Mrs Owl. Not that those kinds of things aren't facts of life as it is. And the predator would then become victim to the tar too.

One of us had to take action and it was clear who was still capable of action and who was helpless to their fate. And it was clear who was responsible. I'll spare the details but suffice to say the end was quick. And before I did what I had to do... to do for both of us, I told him I was sorry.

Was it just a mouse? Or can the experience be extrapolated to apply to one's principles? To go to the very core of one's being. What is it about life that is so precious? That moves us so? Its a fair question. But even more so is the question, why can't we hold the value of it present? Why do we have to be reminded in such heart wrenching ways?

Tears. Heartbreak. Besides life itself, one of the most precious of feelings. It serves to remind us of the value of life as a feeling reaction to loosing it.

RIP Mr Mouse. I never thought the whole thing through.

I told Liz about it and she told me the story of her and Mr Mouse. When she was about 7 she had a little mouse. It was her friend. The only friend she had at the time. But it struck her. Somehow the relationship translated into understanding freedom in the mind and heart of a 7 year old. Somehow, in her loneliness, with only a mouse as a friend, she knew she had to set that mouse free. To let go of the only other living thing she could truly connect to unconditionally. And that to keep it in a cage for her own satisfaction, for her own comfort, was conditional.

So she took the little mouse to the park and set it free. Along with a box of corn flakes so it would have something to eat. And she cried. But she said she'd never felt free-er herself. Someone, some wise bird, once said, if you love something, set it free. If it flies back to you, its your's forever.

Was that you Mr. Mouse?