Still groggy from bed and dreamings,
I went into the never clean kitchen to make my morning tea.
As I was about to turn on the tap, my eyes focused in on the
ever-present bowl of old water and dirty silverware left in the sink, as per usual, by the houseowner.
There, perched along the handle of a spoon,
round mouthed, gasping for air, clearly bewildered,
was a bedraggled little baby rodent,
a mouse – a meecelet, as tiny as a recent born, looking,
with its hair all wet, as if it had just emerged from the womb.
Repulsion and compassion welled up.
Clearly something had to be done.
The front door is across two rooms, down stairs, and through two doors, so…
The only other option was the window.
I took the screen off, opened the pane as wide as I could,
put my hands in plastic bags, gingerly lifted the mouse and spoon out of the bowl and carried them over to the window.
Realizing there was no ledge, I hesitated. I thought: I can’t get through the house with this mouse on this spoon handle, and it’s just one floor down, and very grassy back there, so…I just have to let it go.
And I did; I turned the spoon over and off the mouse went.
It bothered me.
About 15 mins later, I got some cheese shavings and went to see if it was alright.
I walked around to the back of this duplexcomplex, not sure which window to look under
because they all look the same.
It turns out, right beneath some of the windows,
carved out of the grass, are semicircles of ground covered with rocks.
I have no idea why this is, but of course, the window in question turns out to be over one of these, and it was there that I found the little thing, quite motionless, head to an awkward side.
I got a stick and nudged the little body gently, but there was no sign of life. I sprinkled the cheese by its nose, just in case it was only out cold, though I was pretty sure it was dead.
One minute this tiny meecelet winds up nearly drowning in a strange and murky body of water; then it gets lifted out of that only to be tossed out a window and hurled to its death on what are, relatively speaking, boulders.
What a traumatic existence…
Maybe it had some happy days before the bowl; we’ll never know,
Maybe while it was shivering there, it was thinking back to the love of its warm Mother, back when it stayed where it was put..
How did it even wind up in that bowl?
Did she or he follow after Mom and slip into the bowl and
since nothing could be done, was left behind, all alone?
Did he or she go off on hers or his own and get lost?
Did she or he come in a bag from the store, when perhaps even smaller…?
The poor little thing…
Such is life.
Born into someone’s arms, you might slip into some inescapable predicament; and perhaps be lifted from that only to meet your death.
Sort of like boarding the transports, thinking you’re finally escaping the ghetto, only to be gassed on arrival.
Sorry little creature.
Sorry I was too nervous to think of a better solution –
like putting you in a jar with a little cheese and setting you into the bushes outside.
Chances are damn good you’d have gotten picked up by some bird, or pounced on as a
mere appetizer by some other four-legged creature – and
unless you knew your way back to a hole, a safe haven, right quick,
I think you were doomed, and only didn’t drown before you were given one last fling,
so to speak…