Of Baby Mice and Little Women
Wednesday evening, Emma ran into the house shouting her little lungs out. Seems she and the almost-six-year-old living next door found a baby mouse outside. Probably about 10 days old -- it had fur, but was the tiniest little thing. Its head was nearly as big as its body, and it had spindly little legs. Adorable.Kristi, being Kristi, knew exactly what to do -- or if she didn't know it, knew to find out. She watched over it for a while to protect it from cats, hoping that its mother would come for it. When that failed, she got a box, lined it with various soft things, and brought the mouse indoors to try to rehydrate it. She also called the veterinarian across the street, made a quick run to PetSmart for some artificial mouse milk (I have no idea what it's really called, but that's effectively what it was), and generally did everything that could be done.
None of it helped, sadly. Before she went to bed Wednesday, the mouse had passed on to wherever it is that baby rodents go when they expire. Emma, of course, wanted to keep it anyway; gentle explanations had to be made as to why that wouldn't be a good idea.
This was just one in a series of wildlife rescues Kristi has attempted over the years we've been married. She's had successes and failures, but she never stops trying. Heck, she's invested more time in keeping our goldfish alive than anybody else would, ever. (They're at least four years old now; Finnegan is painfully fit, and while Gilligan has continued issues, Kristi makes heroic efforts to keep him happy and healthy.) Gotta love her for it.
posted by MeanMrMustard @ 12:32 PM
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