Elegy for a mouse
My wife and I saw an unexpected guest, courtesy of Hurricane Ike.
A small, brown field mouse, who likely made it into our home after the power went out.
During the storm, and with no lights, we opened our doors and windows to cool off.
It didn’t really work though, did it? That wonderful humid Gulf air hit us right in the face.
It’s all we could do without a generator, and somehow managed to sleep in that thick, hot time.
Not noticed for awhile, the mouse kept to himself and found good places to hide.
The first time we saw him wasn’t so bad. He was a cute critter.
We wouldn’t hurt Jerry the Mouse, would we? We wouldn’t kill Mickey?
So we kind of let it slide.
Then at some point, our friend started getting into dried food in the cupboard, and we declared war.
I remember my dad’s reliable fix-up. The good old-fashioned glue trap.
We put it out there. Took a couple weeks but eventually the peanut butter smell got to him.
Got his front feet stuck, but not the back and maneuvered around quite well.
He gave up about six feet away, Which is the part I dreaded.
Looking him in the eye as he went his final doom.
“Why are you doing this?” he seemed to say.
Well, I’m not a PETA person. I don’t spray paint on fur coats.
I don’t picket places that test on animals.
But it was, indeed, his time to go. He’d had a good run.
And when the garbage men came, I didn’t even wince.
I was just being human, which may or may not be a good thing.
And if there’s a heaven for mice, I hope one is there.