I saved a mouse the other day.
He was in the kitchen sink and couldn’t get out, and had nearly starved to death. He moved slowly and with lethargy.
He was a tiny little thing.
I lifted him up to the counter, but he didn’t run away, he just sat there, sides heaving, whiskers twitching. I moved my hand and he crawled onto a dirty plate I’d been about to wash.
I inverted a large tupperware lid over him at an angle; if I were a mouse I’d prefer a roof over my head.
I’d made dinner and there were crumbs on the other counter. I got a tiny tomato dice, a wee bit of lettuce, and two bits of shredded cheese.
I moved the lid and set the food in front of mousie. He just sat there, sides heaving, whiskers twitching. I lowered the lid to it’s protective jaunty angle and proceeded with my kitchen clean up.
I checked on him again when I was finished. He had a tiny bit of cheese between his paws and was chewing thoughtfully, if a tiny rodent can be said to be chewing thoughtfully in the first place.
I checked on him again a few minutes later and he was practically perky. Since I needed to wash the plate he was standing in and the lid over his head, I scooped him up and carried him out to the garage, where I deposited him and his veggies on a dark shelf.
Mice are a scourge, of course, and I bought a cat specifically to eat them. But sometimes you just gotta give a little guy a hand. Even if he’s a nasty little rodent.