Good Intentions

It all started on a Saturday morning when Miko, our cat, leapt from the bed and made a mad dash for the hallway just outside our bedroom door. I was half asleep, the sun had not yet come up, and since Miko regularly tears through the house with little or no discernable provocation, I didn’t give it much thought.

The next time I woke an hour or more had passed. I’d forgotten all about Miko and this time was aware only that my stomach needed breakfast. I pulled a sweatshirt on over my pajamas and headed toward the stairs.

I found Miko lying there, several steps below the landing, his tail switching rhythmically as he stared intently at an upside down piece of white cardboard. As soon as he saw me, he jumped up and began meowing, clearly wanting me to inspect his treasure. I picked up the white cardboard and turned it over to find a tiny, live mouse stuck to a thick layer of glue.

Sam had placed these glue traps around the house to catch spiders and bugs. It had never occurred to me we might catch a mouse. How long would it take a mouse to die in one of these traps? Would it starve to death? Or in this case, die of fright?

For most people, there would be no question about what to do next. Mice are rodents. They carry disease. They send people screaming onto the high safety of chairs and sofas.
I knew in an instant, knew in the core of my being, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt – what I would do next. I would save that little mouse. No matter what it took.

I carried the mouse down to the kitchen and assessed the situation. She was pretty well stuck to the glue on her entire right side. Only her front left leg was free and it swung widely in search of anything to grab hold of.

I looked for tools and found a pair of scissors as well as a knife, fork and spoon and a paper towel. Each would help me release the little mouse from the glue. I carried her out the back door and like a surgeon, set up my operating theater on top of the barbeque grill. I started with her tail, lifting first the tip and then sliding the paper towel beneath the freed portion to keep it from getting stuck again.

It didn’t take long before I realized it was too cold. It was only about 10 degrees outside and my fingers were already getting numb. Even if I could withstand the cold, I was sure the little mouse would die if I didn’t bring her back inside.

Sam would later refer to this as just one in a series of completely ludicrous choices made that morning, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

I moved my operation back inside, sat down at the kitchen table and resumed my work. I‘d gently lift a part of the mouse from the cardboard, use the scissors to snip the glue away, and then slide in a piece of paper towel. I kept lifting, snipping and sliding as I moved towards the mouse’s shoulders and head.

It was slow, tedious work. The glue was unforgiving and I was terrified I would cut the mouse as I tried to trim the glue away from her fur and from her legs, feet and tail. The little mouse was so scared, I could feel her heart racing inside her tiny, stuck body. I whispered soothing words to her. Assured her she was going to be ok. Promised her I wouldn’t hurt her. Encouraged her to hold on just a little longer. Praised her bravery.

My heart was swollen with compassion for this tiny, helpless little creature. I felt so powerful as I worked to save her. God-like even. I was sure if I could just save this little mouse, I would have started something. Surely there were more lives I could save. Human lives. Lives that were paralyzed by fear and suffering.

I kept working until all but her right shoulder and her head were free, and I realized I would have to decide where to release her. I couldn’t let her go outside. She would freeze to death. So I decided to let her go in the laundry room in the basement. It made sense to me, but later, as I tried to explain my rationale to Sam, he just looked at me as if I’d decided to turn lose thousands of cockroaches in our home.

I carried her down the stairs and settled us both onto the floor in front of the dryer. Miko paced outside the door, meowing, imploring me to let him in.

I thought about what would happen once she was free. I knew she would run away. But part of me hoped she would stay close for a moment, just to let me know she understood my good intentions, and was grateful to me for saving her. Perhaps we could exchange a meaningful look, this little mouse and me.

But she didn’t pause. The moment she was free, she stumbled away, dragging a leg and moving awkwardly. She headed straight for the door and slipped under it – directly into Miko’s waiting gaze.

I jumped from the floor and threw open the door, startling both cat and mouse. The mouse drug herself under the bookshelves as I scooped the cat into my arms and raced up the stairs with him.

Shit! Shit! Shit! This was not at all what I had planned. I held tight to Miko until I felt the mouse had had plenty of time to make her escape, and then I locked him in the guest bedroom. And then I sat down and cried. Small tears at first, but my sobs grew and soon I was struggling to catch my breath. I so desperately wanted to save that little mouse. I so desperately wanted to save the world.

Sam came in to see what was wrong. He was groggy with sleep, his hair messed. Why was I crying? What had happened? I explained it all to him, between sobs. He listened to me, first with disbelief, then anger.

“What were you thinking?” he implored. “What would you have done if that mouse had bitten you? Did you even think about that?” I hadn’t. Not really.

“And you let this mouse loose in our basement? In our BASEMENT?!!” Sam doesn’t get mad easily. It takes a lot to ignite his temper. But he was clearly pissed. I could tell he was biting his tongue, not wanting to tell me how completely, and utterly ridiculous he thought this was.

I felt helpless, and misunderstood. “What would you have done?” I asked.

“I would have thrown it in the trash outside, or maybe killed it, or something! For the love of God, it was a mouse Julie!”

I was trying to save a life. An innocent life. And I’d never felt as powerful as I had in freeing that little mouse. I’d felt invincible – ready to hop the first flight to Africa to end war and rid disease. I’d felt as clear about my purpose and as laser focused on the outcome as I could ever remember feeling.

Finally Sam softened. He knows this side of me and though he had a hard time seeing how it applied to a mouse, he was willing to try to accept it.

The rest of the day passed without event. I poked around downstairs, but found the little mouse nowhere and was sure she'd slipped back into the walls where she would be safe and could recover.

But the next afternoon she reappeared. I’d told Katherine about the mouse, hoping for understanding. And although she understood, she was none to pleased at the idea of a mouse in our house.

I wasn’t home, but it happened like this. Katherine walked into the living room to watch TV, and from the corner of her eye saw something scurry under a floor pillow. Miko was nearby and as she looked closely, she saw he was at full attention. She knew instantly what it was and at the exact moment her brain registered the information, her mouth and lungs began screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

Sam came running, and with a quick survey of the room, he too, knew what had happened.

Sam and Katherine both told me this story as soon as I returned home, but I waited several hours before I gathered enough courage to ask for the details.

“How do you think she got up the stairs and into the living room?” I asked.

“Miko probably carried it up in his mouth,” Sam answered.

I glared at my cat. I hated him.

“How did she look?”

“Bad. Pretty bad. It was still alive, but just barely. It was probably in shock. I think its legs were probably broken.”

I waited a full day before asking the next logical question.

“What did you do with her?” My heart was in my throat as I asked.

“I put it in a paper bag, and then shook it out of the bag into the wood pile. I thought that would be the best place for it. It really was in pretty bad shape.”

I breathed out relief. And I cried. And I hugged Sam.

“Thank you,” I sighed.

I spent the next several days thinking about that little mouse, and my desire to save her. It was entirely likely that in my efforts to save her, I had really just prolonged her suffering. What if I’d just killed her like Sam said? I couldn’t even imagine how, but if I had, I would've saved her from an additional 30 hours of suffering and torment.

My intentions had been so true, and yet I was afraid,… so wrong.

I thought of all the things we do as individuals to try to help make the world a better place. I thought of all the programs we put into place to correct social and economic imbalances. I thought of all the policies our country has adopted towards 3rd world countries, of all the times we’ve chosen sides, or backed some politician or foreign army, all the while thinking it was the right decision. And I thought of how wrong all of this so often turns out to be. Just like with my little mouse.