Once Upon a mice
14 July 2006My father has an annoying habit of accumulating paper. He is generally unable to throw anything away. Sometimes this can lead to interesting consequences. Like the other day, when I managed to force him to clean and we found, six little mice.
They were helpless, their eyes still closed. They had no fur on them and they crawled around like worms.
I threw a fit. Thanks to my father we would now have the death of six little mice on our hands.
I know that’s silly. Then again, maybe its not. I am vegetarian and though I don’t try and force vegetarianism on others (anymore) I do believe that all life is sacred and that we can and should only eat what we absolutely need to. Plants suffice.
I know this argument cannot stand up to scrutiny in any rational debate, so let us leave it there. In any case this story doesn’t have any rationale to it.
I wasn’t suggesting anyone eat the mice by the way. I was just sure that there was no way they would survive. The nest was destroyed. We couldn’t put the old books back without squashing the mice. We couldn’t put the box back and pretend that nothing had happened because momma and poppa mice would not come back.
I was facing the prospect of six dead mice. A slow agonizing death for six helpless creatures that were yet to glimpse the world. I wasn’t sure if I could bear the burden of six dead mice.
I did the only thing my conscience allowed me. I put them in an old box lined with shredded newspapers and put them over the shoe rack and then found some disposable gloves and started feeding them every few hours with a dropper, milk and water for the first few days. I had no idea whether they were getting any stronger at first.
At first all six would huddle in a corner, piling over one another and I would have to lift them our one by one and touch the dropper to their tiny mouths. I couldn’t even make
out if they were drinking the milk and water.
After about a week I noticed that two of the mice were definitely not going to make it. For one, the other four had some fur now and moved around a lot more than these two. In fact there was one mouse that was growing a lot lot faster than the remaining. Somehow I also got the feeling that the bigger four were deliberately making it tougher for the smaller two.
A week ago one little mouse died. I picked him out and placed him on the ledge and watched a crow take him away.
The day after that, the mice opened their eyes. All five of them. Shiny black eyes, like little beads on dirty rag dolls.
The day after, a second one died. The crow had a small feast again.
The last four or five days have been different. The mice now have large shiny marble eyes and a shiny black coat. I’ve been changing their newspaper regularly and feeding them sugar, boiled rice and bread. They have grown a lot larger than when I first saw them. They even seem to wait for me to open the box and scurry around the box looking for the sugar that I drop.
This morning when I opened the box, the big mouse jumped onto the edge of the shoe box. I pushed him back in and decided it was time for them to leave.
So at 2 AM when the whole locality sleeps, I took the box to the small garden in front and shook the box out. I distinctly spied one little mouse dart away. The other three stayed there reluctantly. I nudged them and walked away.
Somehow I returned after a few minutes. They were still there. Three little mice, with large marble eyes and shiny black coats.
They hadn’t moved an inch.
They are back in the box now. I know I am being silly, but what can I do.
I’ve decided to feed them for another week now.
I also plan to pick a fight with my father tomorrow.
2 Responses to “Once Upon a mice”
July 17th, 2006 at 8:21 am
hello ,
read ur blog for the first time. Do not know why or how! just bumped into it. And it made me feel a wave of the self-loathing that i’d been supressing since beginning of grad school.
There you were , stuck with 6 blind mice by happenstance and feeding them to keep them alive , here I am right now waiting for the overdose of the anesthetic to hit their heads , the very same species … and babies too. I wait for them to dose and split their brains apart for what excuse I call research.
Oh I so hate this about my work , and you so reminded me of where I’ve come from where.
I’ve almost forgotten the first time when I couldn’t sleep for a week, now it doesn’t affect half as much .. is this how ppl get used to killing … I do not expect a reply.And sorry for this long mess … couldn’t help it.
August 1st, 2006 at 1:26 pm
If the mice still refuse to go and there is this starving cat (without fur), you’d know what to do.