The Mouse Story

I wasn’t quite awake yet but it sounded like reindeer on the roof.  Through the fog I rolled over and looked at the clock, 6:10.  Maybe I’m dead.  I’m never awake at 6:10 AM, except in cases of natural disasters like Category 5 hurricanes.  Maybe if I roll over on the other side I won’t hear anything.  Whatever it is will probably go away.  The noise has moved from above my head to the bedroom door and it is accompanied by a voice.  Oh that’s right.  I’m not alone in my one room apartment in very sunny, very warm, mmmm, south Florida anymore.  I am in the very cold spare bedroom of my very cute but extremely obsessive compulsive, vegan, emotionally kung fu like, get out of bed at 6 AM every day, boyfriend’s spare bedroom.   After the initial horror and shock, I realize that he probably was just dusting the attic rafters and has just worked his way to the cobwebs in the spare bedroom.   Maybe he’ll go away.

“Hey I need your help.”

“Come back after 9.”

“This can’t wait.  It could mean life or death.”

Ok he has my attention.  Maybe he’s decided to just do me in and do us both a favor.  I pull the covers down far enough to allow the cold air to touch my face and through the haze I see him standing there holding something that looks like a small plastic storage box, except there is a noise emanating from the box.  Adorable little eyes, and whiskers, and a tail.  A tiny little mouse.  Probably the cutest thing I have ever laid eyes on at 6:10 AM.  I didn’t know they were that cute.  He looked terrified.  Kind of like me.

“We have to go for a drive.”

What, the mouse wants a scenic tour of the area?

“For what.”

I can’t let him go here, he’ll climb back into the attic.”

“So walk him over to the neighbor’s house.”
“He needs to go to a wooded area where there’s fresh water or he won’t survive.”

Only a vegan animal rights activist would know this about a mouse.  I’m thinking he might not survive because I’m getting the urge to kill him.  It’s too cold to even get out of bed.

“We have to go now.  He needs water.”
I can’t have a mouse on my conscience.  I’ve got enough stuff on my conscience.   I drag myself up, put on my slippers and my sweats and head off to do my duty for mousedom.  Fifteen minutes later, after driving through fog, rain, and down winding roads I didn’t know existed except in country music songs, we arrived at the appointed area.

“Would you like to let him go?
“No, I think you can have the privilege,” worried that he might run up my pant leg looking for a warm spot.  My toes are frozen again.

We walk over to a nice wooded area next to the stream and he opens the trap door.  The little guy sits there looking in disbelief and fear.  A new life awaits him, in a new land.  After a few minutes of hesitation he takes off into the underbrush and just for a second he sticks his little twitching nose out and nods his head, as if to say thanks.  And then off he goes into mouse land.

“He should have a long happy life here where he can build a warm nest and have plenty of food and water, and lots of friends.”
I should be so lucky.