.
Living with any other creature, you learn to recognise the sounds they make, verbal or otherwise.
Most can be safely ignored.
But often, it pays to investigate.
.
The other night after supper, I was in the kitchen when Willow suddenly lunged at the fire screen which could only mean one thing.
A mouse.
.
Well yes, the day before it had been a chipmunk, but it was safe to assume that Zoomer was still safe out in the woodpile.
“I told my pals: Don’t go in there!”
.
Mice do not usually venture upstairs. When we see one, it has inevitably been brought up by one of the dear darlings and there are always sound effects. In which case the mouse is generally beyond saving 🙁
That night, I had heard nothing until Willow’s assault on the fireplace, meaning the mouse was probably still rescue-able.
First, I had to steer Willow away and luckily the mouse ran to a place where I could safely contain it.
.
Then I grabbed my mouse-rescue kit, a waste bin and a long-handled scooper. Within moments, I’d urged the rodent to climb aboard its conveyance and removed it outdoors.
Considering a photograph, I decided the mouse was too traumatized, so I released it in a flowerbed where it sat breathing deep as I bade it goodnight.
My mouse looked just like this, but these photographs are from Pexel and Openverse.
.
Mice do dreadful things to one’s property, but I rescue them if I can. And such events always bring up memories.
Some time back in the ’70’s, I visited an old friend who was living in a bed-sit in Edinburgh.
As we ate supper, I noticed a mouse creep out. I knew that my friend was terrified of birds and I suspected she might not be keen on mice.
.
This lady had survived WW2 in London, but the mind is not a rational thing.
Deciding that my friend might have a stroke if she encountered the mouse later on, I mentioned it as gently as I could and someone was summoned to deal with it.
In those days I had not yet developed my technique.
.
My other mouse memory is deeply poignant.
In 2001 I went with a friend to spend a night at the Mount Rainier Inn. As we browsed in the gift shop, a small face popped up in a book case.
.
The inn was very rundown in those days. It has since been refurbished, though I have not been back.
.
That mouse made us smile briefly, through tears evoked by the desolate tune being picked out on a piano in the lobby.
.
Someone was playing the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
It was September 11th.
.
My friend had flown out to Seattle so we could spend a few days together, but that awful day had left us so shocked, we’d not known what to do.
We decided to drive up the mountain, away from everything.
After dark we walked, gazing at the stars.
The experience of a pristine night sky was so unique.
The photographs are faded, but the memory never will.
What lovely, nostalgic memories of time past! I like mice but you cannot be a friend with one as they have extended family, with many cousins twice removed! Beautiful photography, as always! Thank you!
Janna
My wife is terrified of mice. Fortunately, we do not get them in the house. But we do get field mice in the shed outside, and they try to eat the birdseed from the container left in there. I leave them alone to nibble what birdseed they can, and never tell my wife they are out there.
Best wishes, Pete.
They are, at first sight, quite cute, but their toilet habits leave a lot to be desired!
Your mouse rescue mission was quite the adventure. And the memories that came flooding back – wow, what a story.
Ever since we moved into this house, there’s been a sound that makes me pause every time I hear it … the call of a fish eagle (or osprey as they are also known). Sometimes I’m lucky to see them in the sky, but it’s enough for me to just hear them. And when we’re camping, I’m fascinated to listen to all the different night sounds — then it doesn’t matter that I don’t sleep through! I have to say, I would prefer not to see a mouse … but it’s actually funny, because my favourite animated story is Ratatouille!