Speedy the Mouse

I buried Speedy this morning. Apparently I am responsible for his death. A little baby mouse was rescued on Sunday, and is now dead on Tuesday. He was doing well. My wife had bought him a nice little habitrail cage. He had a nice fluffy nest and food and water. He was christened "Speedy" because we're pretty sure he was the little mouse our cat, George, had brought into the house a few nights earlier. Since George injured his left eye about a year ago, the live mouse presents had ceased. That is, until I heard that distinct cry George lets out when entering the house with a mouse in his mouth. On cue, George dropped the mouse before I could grab it from him and the mouse scurried off. Fortunately, I captured the tiny little creature and dropped him out the back screen door like so many mice before. End of story.

On Sunday, my wife noticed birds pestering something in our backyard, which she quickly identified as a little mouse. I was called (wives do not touch mice or spiders - my role is HUSBAND, Smoter of Spiders and Catcher of Mice). The mouse was injured, and we wondered if he might be the same mouse presented to me by George.

We would rescue him.

My wife grew immediately attached, and we began our stewardship. Last night, I decided to try to get rid of the spider mites that resided on his little body. I thought I was gentle. I thought I was helping him. I squished two mites that crawled off onto my sugically-gloved hand. I stroked his head and put him back in the cage.

This morning, I went to Speedy's cage, smiling and calling his name (Speedy, you see, because Speedy he is not - Speedy the lame little mouse). I opened the cage door and lifted away his bedding to check on our dear little friend.

Apparently he had crawled under his bedding and waited until his heart stopped beating.

Forever.