Mouse house
Small and white-ish, clean-ish and bright; every morning you greet me
It’s cold again, with tiny snowflakes flying around amounting to nothing much. There’s a mouse in the trap in the kitchen, and I need to bestir myself to take him out into the cold world, but meanwhile he’s nibbling daintily on a freeze-dried beef liver treat donated to the cause by Auggie and Eli. They’re thoughtful that way.
Despite the presence of a small animal in their kitchen, the dogs have walked past the mouse in his little house on the floor all morning without so much as a sniff. Shepherds are funny about small animals. None of mine have shown any interest in them. My husband once found Moses staring into his water dish, and looked to discover a mouse swimming around in it. Moses looked up, apparently asking his dad if he would please do something about this obstacle. Last summer I noticed Auggie staring oddly at a half-empty tray of potted plants, and there, inside one of the little round pot holes, was a baby bunny. Auggie sniffed at it gently, and then looked at me enquiringly. Eli once actually picked up a very tiny baby bunny, but so gently as to only leave it kind of wet. Poor thing must have run home terrified.
All of this is making the condition of our house sound rather bad, but at least we seem to have succeeded in sealing up the entry points, and are now in the deportation phase. Every time I think I’m finished, another sign appears. Not a sign from Heaven, like a flash of light or the parting of clouds, but something considerably less esoteric, like a pile of nut shells and some droppings. Mice are not fastidious creatures, which, of course, is the primary reason they cannot be permitted to continue in residence. Apparently, however, they can reproduce fourteen times a year, so I must persist in my campaign amidst much sighing and spraying of bleach. By me, not the mice.
The whole process is making me a little crazy because I am using what is probably the least effective method possible. I can’t kill them, though. It’s bad for the soul.
And so, in this Lenten season, the mouses, too, must do penance for their incontinent behavior and find their proper places in the cold, wild world, just as I must harden my heart. As an incentive, I do not enjoy finding nesting materials in the bottoms of my new suede boots.
There are limits.
***
“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
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And now for your gratuitous animal photos:
NB: In case you were wondering about the odd reference in the subtitle, I’ve been listening to Pink Martini’s collaboration with the Trapp Family Singers “Dream a Little Dream”. It’s splendid, and has a delightful and poignant surprise.
I lived in Dallas one summer and became acquainted with those. Somebody joked that they don’t swat them, but tie them in the front yard to keep away marauders.
Thank you, I will be humming Edelweiss all morning (and that’s a good thing).
Years ago, our shepherd/husky mix Tank alerted us to the fact that my daughter’s hamster had escaped by gently dropping the slightly damp but completely unharmed little guy at our feet.