I love mice; have ever since I can remember. I was disappointed when I was old enough to understand that mice can’t wear dresses and hats and slippers, but I still love mice. Sometimes, even now, I wonder if I couldn’t find a pattern small enough.
Yeh. I watched too much Cinderella. Of course I did. There were mice in it!
I started collecting mouse figures and toys of any kind when I was about 3. When I got older, I found Charming Tails. Being the practical (half) Scot that I am, I decided I would only collect 4 pieces, one for each season.
Uh, huh. Sure. I even have the little mousey nativity scene.
Some years ago when I was a legal assistant and Shooshie was a waitress at the cafe down the street from my office, she came to meet me after work so we could ride home together. She had an hour to kill before I would be ready. She was going to toodle through the feed and pet store (we lived in rural Northern California, so yes, seed, feed, and tractors) to kill some time. Next thing I know, she is walking up the drive to my office with a bag in one arm and a small box of the type I was more than familiar with in the other hand.
A small brown mouse was rescued from being snake food. “But, mom! He was going to feed it to his snake! I had to save her.” She bought him right out from under the snake owner’s nose.
Four months later, Shoosh had moved to Connecticut. Two months after that, Mousie was breathing funny, so I took her to the vet. She had a respiratory infection, despite my best efforts to keep her from cold and drafts and dust.
The vet did what he could, delicately pointing out that I “could buy another mouse in the shop out for for about $2.” But she was suffering. I couldn’t let her suffer. He told me he didn’t think anyone else in the world would go through all this for a mouse.
Mousie passed away that evening. I put her into a box lined with fabric and wrapped up and took her in to the vet in the morning to ask if they would dispose of her properly for me as we lived in an apartment and I had no place to bury her. The staff and vet felt awful as I tearfully passed Mousie to them to be interred. They even gave me a partial refund of the $75 vet bill.
Several weeks later, my BF at the time (and still my dearest friend) took me to the shop to buy a new mouse. Stewart (not named for Stuart Little) lived for over 2 years. He moved with us from California to Virginia, and then to Florida. He was a wonderful little guy. “Two-two mouse” loved to play in his maze and cuddle and give kisses. I cried for weeks when he died. He is buried under a hibiscus tree in the backyard at my parent’s house.
Just after Christmas, The Brit bought me Amelia (Pond (we are Doctor Who dorks)) mouse. A little white and ginger ball of playfulness. Last night, Amelia started making funny noises and looking like she had something caught in her throat or something. I don’t know. She’s too tiny to see in her mouth. I held her for 4 hours, gently breathing near her mouth in case she needed more air, keeping her warm; we even tried a steam bath in the shower per recommendation from a veterinary site on the Internet. Finally, at 3am, I put her into her nest in hopes she would go to sleep and wake up better, or go to sleep. It was heartbreaking to put her down.
Expecting the worse, I checked on her early this morning. She was peeking up at me from her nest on the 1st floor of her mousie mansion (The Brit still thinks “we need more tubes”). She’s been climbing around and ate a little bit. I am about to take her to the vet.
I am here writing this to kill time so I don’t go insane watching the clock and end up at the vet an hour early. They specialise in reptiles, rodents, and other exotic animals, so I am hopeful that they can fix Amelia up.
Amelia has just gone back into her nest after some good foraging, and I don’t hear her clicking anymore. No. It’s OK. I checked on her and she poked her nose out to see me. The fact that she ate is a good sign. We’re going to the vet anyway.UPDATE!!!! The vet was great. Amelia had an upset tummy from the pea I gave her last night as a treat. Apparently, mice are like babies in that you have to introduce new foods in small quantities, and a garden pea is a huge meal for a wee mouse. She is fine. Lungs and heart sounded perfect. All healthy. She is now running her cage and climbing through her tunnels and eating and drinking again.
This is one relieved mousie mummy!