Mice are icky.

I’m sure whether you care to admit it or not, you have probably experienced a mouse or two in your house from time to time.  It has nothing to do with cleanliness, rodents, and bugs for that matter, are resourceful little boogers that want to find a way into your house and they will.

We have had mice come visit our home uninvited a few times over the years, but having two cats, and the growing population of stray cats in our neighborhood has greatly reduced that number.  The last time we had a mouse inside our house, our two cats found it and kept it trapped until Abe came home to catch and release the little intruder.

Mice carry diseases, they are gross, filthy little things.  Have you heard about the bubonic plague making a comeback?  Seriously.  2012, and bubonic plague is still around, kickin’ it medieval style.

All this said, we grow up watching adorable little cartoon mice on television, begging us to love them.  Mickey Mouse anyone?  So, it seems natural that when confronted with a mouse, though totally grody as mentioned before, that something inside of you, whether you like it or not, will tend to think that it looks like a sweet little creature.  Something not to be feared, but to be adored and protected.

No, we don’t have a mouse in our house, but the kids did find one outside last week on the way to the bus stop.  Now, as you may recall, they recently found a very dead mouse, while digging around outside.  Probably something that a cat found, played with, chewed a bit, and then left for dead.  Cats are evil like that.

The mouse they found last week was alive, but barely.  I’m pretty sure it was also a kitteh play thing.  We found it wet and not moving much.  I hate to say it, but it was adorable.  Tiny and helpless and just precious.  You know, in that gross you know you aren’t supposed to think this thing is cute kind of way.

I told the kids not to touch it and we went off to catch the bus.  On the way home, I couldn’t help but stop and look at the mouse.  Not wanting to touch it with my hands, bubonic plague!, I grabbed a small stick and gently prodded it, seeing if it could move.  The poor thing seemed scared to death.  He moved, which is a good sign right?  I saw no obvious injuries, no bloody tooth marks, nothing that hinted at what may be wrong.

The thing is, where he was, right out in the open, well, he was easy prey to any cat passing by.  And as I said, we have quite a few cats that pass through our neighborhood.  So.  I coaxed him with the little stick, my home made mouse prod, over to where I thought he would be safer.  I thought to myself how insane the Wildlife Rescue people would think I was if I scooped up this little mouse and brought it to them to save.  I tried to remind myself of how icky this thing was, no matter how cute it may be on the outside.  He could have the zombie virus for all I know!

Probably not, but mice are icky.  Right?

*sigh*

Wanna see the icky mouse?  I took a picture.  It’s what I do.

 

Look at those tiny little paws!  The itty bitty whiskers!

I am such a bleeding heart, bubonic plague be damned.

I resisted the urge to name him and make him a pet, but I worried about him all day until Abe came home and I told him to check if he was still out there.  I asked him to tell me he was gone no matter what, and if he was still there, to move him into the woods but not to tell me.  I want to assume in my goofy little mind that he got his act together, found his way home, and is living happily ever after, bubonic plague free with his adorable little mouse family.

I am crazy, I realize.