Yes, another rodent visitor. We’re noticing they come in when it’s cold or rainy outside. Well, if I were a field mouse, I would too. Pierre woke us up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning vigorously playing with something on the bedroom floor. I assumed it was one of his toy chickens, the ones he enjoys bringing upstairs and lining up on his little blanket. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. I awoke at 6, took care of Shadow, got my coffee and headed upstairs to work. As I was answering email, I heard a muffled shout from down the hallway. Hubby emerged from the bedroom. “Pierre’s got a mouse.”
“His green one or his blue one?”
“Neither. A real one.”
He had the little creature cornered behind the night table. We went about our day, leaving Pierre on guard duty. Pierre kept his vigil all day long, barely snatching a cat nap for the next several hours. The mouse never moved.
Finally, Hubby could stand it no longer. He decided to take action.
I heard a triumphant shout. “I got him!”
He walked into my office holding a lid on top of an empty plastic container. The mouse was standing on tip toe inside, nose twitching, looking indignant.
“Nabbed him on the stairs.”
Score: Pierre, 2. Hubby, 2. It’s a tie.
In the middle of the nor’easter, with branches snapping and the wind and rain howling, Hubby walked out into our woods. He was gone for about 10 minutes. He came back soaking wet.
“Where in the world did you go?”
“All the way down to the fallen tree. I let the mouse go there. At least he has a place to hide from the storm.”
“The owl might get him.” We’ve got a wonderful Great Horned owl living in the woods on that side of the property. We hear her every night, hunting.
“Yeah, but at least that’s nature doing what it does…” He shrugged and brushed something off his maroon sweatshirt. “You know. Not…playing him to death, the way Pierre would. Fast, natural death.”
“What’s that on your shirt?”
“Saltine crumbs. I left him a cracker. He’s probably hungry.”
I told him that St. Francis of Assissi would have been proud of him.
