So this morning, when I went out into the hall, I found a baby mouse. It was pure grey, about two inches long, and not moving. I thought it was dead, but then I saw it breathe.
So I took him outside. “He’ll die,” I thought. “He’ll certainly die. The cats are terrified of the entire world, but they may have injured him anyhow, and he’s probably too young to be away from his mother, and he will certainly die. But I will take him outside and hope for the best.”
So I did. I put him by the woodshed, where there is a lot of protection, and I put some raisins by him, and I left him there.
But this evening, when I came back from an excursion to photograph some abandoned buildings, he was about a foot away from where I’d left him, still breathing, but clearly unable to burrow or go anywhere.
And so I got a box and put a soft t-shirt in it, and I got a margarine lid and put some water in it, and I put a raisin and some rabbit food in the corner, and I picked him up as gently as I could and I put him in the box, and I put the box in my room.
He’s going to die. Probably tonight, and if not tonight tomorrow. He can’t walk – he just falls over when he tries, and all he wants is to be under the t-shirt and stay very still, and I still think he’s probably too young to digest any of the food or water items that I’ve put in the box with him. So he’s going to die.
But I guess, when I it comes down to it, I believe that it’s better for him to die in a soft t-shirt in a warm house than outside on the cold, wet ground.
I hope, when he does die, he doesn’t feel scared. I hope he just feels soft and warm. I hope, at least, I can do that for him.
So I took him outside. “He’ll die,” I thought. “He’ll certainly die. The cats are terrified of the entire world, but they may have injured him anyhow, and he’s probably too young to be away from his mother, and he will certainly die. But I will take him outside and hope for the best.”
So I did. I put him by the woodshed, where there is a lot of protection, and I put some raisins by him, and I left him there.
But this evening, when I came back from an excursion to photograph some abandoned buildings, he was about a foot away from where I’d left him, still breathing, but clearly unable to burrow or go anywhere.
And so I got a box and put a soft t-shirt in it, and I got a margarine lid and put some water in it, and I put a raisin and some rabbit food in the corner, and I picked him up as gently as I could and I put him in the box, and I put the box in my room.
He’s going to die. Probably tonight, and if not tonight tomorrow. He can’t walk – he just falls over when he tries, and all he wants is to be under the t-shirt and stay very still, and I still think he’s probably too young to digest any of the food or water items that I’ve put in the box with him. So he’s going to die.
But I guess, when I it comes down to it, I believe that it’s better for him to die in a soft t-shirt in a warm house than outside on the cold, wet ground.
I hope, when he does die, he doesn’t feel scared. I hope he just feels soft and warm. I hope, at least, I can do that for him.
Labels: anxiety, death/mourning/corpses, nature, quotidian
oh ginny-- it's so sad. i'm glad you took care of the little mouse.
Thank you for taking care of the mouse. You are a very good human.