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?
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?
posted by Palooka's Revenge at 9/23/2008 09:02:00 AM
5 Comments:
Palooka,
That is quite a post and observation. I truly like its message.
Dang, Palooka, I've got tears streaming down my face from reading your story about the mouse! Well done. I felt the same way last year when I shot the cowbird in our backyard. Hadn't thought it through...
Making eye contact with any living creature that is afraid or suffering or trapped binds you to their feelings. The challenge is to figure out how to deal with it.
You can't eat without killing something - even if it is a plant. After all, when we eat a hamburger or pot roast, that cow had to die. And it was probably a hideous death. Testing shows that even plants react to threats or injury.
In our culture, we just deny what is going on for the most part. But, in more "primitive" cultures,they have ceremonies to honor and acknowledge what is happening, because they are not removed from the process. So, as I understand it, they honor what they eat. They are grateful.
So, I try to do that. I say grace at meals, I thank the food as well as Universe. I hope that one day, when I die, the same will be given to me.
The Deliverance hillbillies and the wet eyed Mr Poulson would have had the situation boxed off in their respective ways; it is just us dumb ass caring bastards in the middle who get affected by remorse.
Just so you can avoid confronting the same situation again, I have heard that Coke Cola (or any other soda) gets the job done; the little blighters can’t burp and die from trapped gas. I have also heard good things from a flour and plaster of Paris mix. They eat the flour and then set from the inside out:-)
b……
thx murph. it was one of those moments that have been few and far between lately. when ya know ya gotta say somethin but you don't know what it is till you say it.
b... would that work on dem rats in washington?
fa... i think its the chinese who had or have the year of the rat. aparently i've had the day of the mouse. hadn't noticed the prieur link at the campfire until tonight. triped on over there and ended up on some thread about atheism on... what, the forum maybe? anyway, ran into a mouse over there. this one called himself grizzly mouse. here's part of what he said....
"...the reason I do not go around ruining every ones day is because that would make me feel bad. The root of all morality is the emotions. All that high philosophy of gods & demons, good & evil, justice etc, are all just rationalisations. It is your emotions that tell you what to do, your rational mind just tells you how to do it, and if necessary rationalise why you did it later."
b…..
The second one is well worth a try but the first is definitely a no go. Dining on the blood of others allows them to burp from both ends as they quite often do, apparently.
There is some sound philosophy in that quote, where did you find it?
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