Into the Wilderness: Story 41
The other night, one of my cat’s jaunted up from the basement, tail in air, with a mouse. She was so proud of her treasure. My daughter, recognizing the gift that likely would have landed on her bed, squealed. The cat dropped the mouse.
The mouse was still alive. Unhurt.
It scurried into the living room and up the living room curtains (yes, mice can climb). Shaking the drapes, we were able to dislodge the mouse. But it was too fast. It skedaddled into the corner behind a plant and then under the sofa. And then we don’t know where it went.
My cat prowled the living room all night long. She was hunting “wabbits,”- well, a mouse- and she wasn’t giving up. The next morning, she peered under the sofa in a real cat and mouse game. After hours of this, she tired of inactivity and decided to nap. Had the mouse gotten away?
Later yesterday afternoon, I was sitting in my adjoining TV room when a little scurry crossed my peripheral vision. One of my dogs saw it too. The chase was back on, this time with a prancing, barking dog. The poor mouse.
My daughter grabbed a net and we, with dog and cat help, cornered it. I slapped the net over it and- tada!- I had captured the mighty mouse. We trapped it in the net and took it outside to free it. We let it go by the rock wall in front of our house. We’ve seen other mice there before. We hoped it found its way home, not in my house. Mouse proof of life is in the photo above.
This, I had decided, will be what I save: animals and bugs. I already forgot about the bug part because I just smashed a hairy house centipede beneath my slipper. Saving a mouse isn’t as fun as inviting a new-found family member to dinner. But it costs less and takes less emotional energy.
Ever overly committed to finding meaning in everything, I see this mouse as a symbolic release of the lost family member I keep writing about. I have to let him go. After my mother passed more than 30 years ago, our dog caught a baby dove. We nursed the dove back to health and then released it into the grassy Oklahoma flatland behind our house. That too was a symbolic releasing of a spirit I cannot hold with me and must let go. Release is a necessary part of moving on.
Mice have various meanings across cultures: adaptability, mischief, feeling cornered, resourcefulness, and, so appropriately, release of overwhelm. With the mouse in its habitat, it felt safe enough to grab a seed pod and begin nibbling. It had gone an entire night without eating.
I watched it consume the pod. The mouse was never scared and didn’t even seem frantic to escape. It was simply where it was supposed to be. It was never ours to keep. It was a passing visitor in our family village. It was only momentarily part of us, and it was time let go. Go then, be free.
Please like and share this blog with others. Subscribe to receive it by email and go directly to the Walk the Moon website to peruse the full collection of articles and updates. You can email me from the Walk the Moon website as well.
Walk the Moon 