The Field Mouse

true story

The Field Mouse Named Survivor

 

Jacob’s cat, Licorice, brought home her first field mouse today. She promptly placed it in his palm, looking up at him, as if to say “Look at what I brought you, Dad!” I will never forget his response. “Noooo! Lickey! That’s mean!” He cried it out as he wrestled the half-mangled mouse from her jaw. She looked at him, with a cross between irritation and confusion. He swatted her away and he ran toward me, holding up the mouse, and telling me it was still alive.

 

“We can save it, Mom! I know we can!”

 

I didn’t know whether to jump out of my skin or hide behind the couch. One thing I have always feared is mice. And seeing it in his palms, with tears rolling down his eight year old cheeks, didn’t totally make the fear dissipate. There was, after all, a wild mouse about three feet from my kitchen island.

 

It wasn’t long that Jacob’s baby brown eyes had me convinced it was time to get over my fear of rodents and help him to save this little creature. I quickly salvaged an plastic cake box from the garbage can and began poking breathing holes in its top. He ran down to his room, grabbing one of his favorite stuffed animals in one hand and still clutching the field mouse in his other hand. He emerged with scissors and cut the head right off that stuffed animal. He made bedding and packed that cake box about as cozy as any outside mouse could ever hope to have. I don’t think he noticed it was twitching.

Tonight, he’s sleeping upstairs. He’s locked his cat in his brother’s room and is laying vigilant by the mouse he’s determined to name Survivor. I’m quite sure Survivor is missing one eye. I’m more than sure the cat managed to break one of his legs. But he’s breathing. And sleeping.

 

Part of me is tempted to kill survivor while Jacob is sleeping, to put the mouse out of its misery. But another part of me wants to believe just what he does �" that the little bugger �" who is actually starting to look sort of cute in a scary sort of way �" will actually be ok.

 

I’ve promised Jacob that if the mouse makes it the night and appears that he will live, we will make a trip to Pet Co to buy him a little cage and food and other treats. I don’t know if I will have to make good on that promise. I hope so. For Jacob’s sake. And for Survivors.

 

He went to sleep tonight saying, “He’s going to be ok, Mom. I know he is!”

 

I told him how proud I was of him for trying to save the mouse. He looked at me, rolled his eyes, and gave me his bravest, most grown-up smile. “Mom! If I’m really going to be a veterinarian, I have to be able to deal with things like little dying mice!” Could someone tell me when God decided that if I was going to be a Mom, that I’d have to too?

Goodnight, Jacob. Goodnight, Survivor. …Fingers crossed.