It's the middle of spring break for the public schools.
Holy Wednesday. As this break doesn't coincide with my work's spring break, we like many school parents are seeking childcare barters and playdates (I didn't use that word) to break up the break.
So we arranged for Nate to spend the night
at his friend R's house.
Sleepovers are still a rarity for our second
grade boy. R's household is a typical Pittsburgh family
household, in some ways: TV always on, much electronic
entertainment, and cigarette smoke in the air. We're OK
with Nate, but thought Solange to be too young for such
a carousing night.
Naturally, Solange required compensatory
fun, so her friend Z was invited here for a sleepover.
Z is five years old and the youngest of three sisters.
Tonight would represent her first ever night away from
her sisters. Earlier today, her mom confirmed that Z wanted to go through with it, and delivered her to our house at 5:30p.
Shortly after, we all got in the car (girls in the back,
Nate got to sit in the front seat because my car is too
old for a passenger airbag), and dropped off Nate at R's,
then swung over to Adrian's to pick up a great pizza that
L hates. (L is my wife and she works on Wednesday nights).
The girls ate pizza, carrot sticks and root beer while watching
Alladin this in accordance with a list for the evening. I was upstairs writing emails or something aside from the paper I have due at the end of the month. Blogging now is more non-writing of the paper, of course.
Licia got home. The girls went to bed. I went to bed. Solange then comes into our room. "What are you doing here, Miss?" "Z is scared. She wants to go home." So we call Z's parents, and I take her home. Now it's midnight, and the day is done.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
The House Mouse
Today was a day of mourning in the household. Mousie is dead.
Most of the three years in our home on Roup Ave in Pittsburgh have been shared with mice. Not many--maybe two at any one time. We have yet to set a commercial mousetrap, though we accidentally caught a few who scrambled up into a waste basket and couldn't scramble out. Then they get driven to a park two miles away and released with tiny rucksacks of food and a couple dollars.
OK, it was the mouse-survival-kit equivalent-- a slice of bread with cheese.
Anyway, we spotted a mouse last November, but couldn't catch it in the waste basket. Erica, babysitting one night, succeeded with the kids, luring it into a cereal box. Then L. (mom, and my wife) got home from work and declared that it must be released--in the house! With winter approaching, she noted, its chance of survival on the outside was slim. We all agreed, and the mouse stayed.
Note: Mice can be destructive, even self-destructive in a human habitat. They like to gnaw through things including electric wires. They twice chewed through a plastic water hose under our sink. They poop a lot. But it's small poop and not too stinky, and our co-habitation has mostly been a harmonious one. Zoe, our cat, is no danger at all.
We did not see the mouse again through the holidays and into the chill of January or the record-snowy days of February. Then, about a week ago, "he" reappeared. Or "she," though Miss ("Miss" is our 5 year-old daughter, Solange) named it Jaspert. To me he was Mousie, and since this is my blog...
Mousie was now remarkably social. He did not cling to the perimeters of the room, but ventured into the middle--under the table, between our feet, freely running the kitchen-dining-living room circuit in search of morsels. We don't know how he spent those three Missing Months, but the transformation of Mousie was profound (is there est for rodents?).
His boldness enamored him to us, especially L., who began preparing him cheese balls and crackers. This was followed by dried fruit, for fear of irregularity. Finally, a nice well-rounded meal of fruit, veggie-dog bits, bread and water was served on a cocktail napkin. He was growing visibly plump and as far as we could tell, very happy.
Note: when a paragraph ends as the last one did, something dreadful must follow, as surely as adagio follows allegro in a Baroque concerto. How I wish this blog entry were an exception, but it is not.
Mousie was living amongst giants, thousand-fold times his weight and stature. Yet he mingled with us as an equal, crawling over our house-slippers and pant-legs. We joked that he may eventually join us in bed--while half-wondering if his new-found pet status might lead to just that. By this morning we were altering our behavior for his sake, trying to avoid stepping on him by ever-looking downward. Learning from an incident yesterday, when I kicked him a yard across the floor, I had just begun the "shuffle"--walking without lifting my feet...
But late this morning, at approximately 11:30AM, I reverted to my normal gait while moving from pantry to kitchen, and I crushed Mousie underfoot. I immediately knew what the horrible sensation meant, and I cried out. L. and I, who had been talking about him just a minute before, saw that he was still alive but gravely injured--I will spare the details--and sprung into action toward a mercy killing. I already had a plan for this, and went the basement. L. was already there, in a panicked but activated state, helping me locate the needed instruments, two boards. But by the time I returned upstairs, the animal was motionless: he had died no more than a minute after the trauma began.
I cleaned Mousie while L. lined a large matchbox with tissues. We placed him in the cardboard coffin and decided to inform the kids after their school day was done and Nate (older brother of Miss) was finished with piano lesson. Instead, L. told Nate before the lesson. He was upset, but remained focused during the lesson. After his tutor left, Nate burst into tears and cried all the way home.
The four of us buried Mousie (Jaspert) in the back yard. L. prepared the elegy, and delivered it a quavering voice:
Most of the three years in our home on Roup Ave in Pittsburgh have been shared with mice. Not many--maybe two at any one time. We have yet to set a commercial mousetrap, though we accidentally caught a few who scrambled up into a waste basket and couldn't scramble out. Then they get driven to a park two miles away and released with tiny rucksacks of food and a couple dollars.
OK, it was the mouse-survival-kit equivalent-- a slice of bread with cheese.
Anyway, we spotted a mouse last November, but couldn't catch it in the waste basket. Erica, babysitting one night, succeeded with the kids, luring it into a cereal box. Then L. (mom, and my wife) got home from work and declared that it must be released--in the house! With winter approaching, she noted, its chance of survival on the outside was slim. We all agreed, and the mouse stayed.
Note: Mice can be destructive, even self-destructive in a human habitat. They like to gnaw through things including electric wires. They twice chewed through a plastic water hose under our sink. They poop a lot. But it's small poop and not too stinky, and our co-habitation has mostly been a harmonious one. Zoe, our cat, is no danger at all.
We did not see the mouse again through the holidays and into the chill of January or the record-snowy days of February. Then, about a week ago, "he" reappeared. Or "she," though Miss ("Miss" is our 5 year-old daughter, Solange) named it Jaspert. To me he was Mousie, and since this is my blog...
Mousie was now remarkably social. He did not cling to the perimeters of the room, but ventured into the middle--under the table, between our feet, freely running the kitchen-dining-living room circuit in search of morsels. We don't know how he spent those three Missing Months, but the transformation of Mousie was profound (is there est for rodents?).
His boldness enamored him to us, especially L., who began preparing him cheese balls and crackers. This was followed by dried fruit, for fear of irregularity. Finally, a nice well-rounded meal of fruit, veggie-dog bits, bread and water was served on a cocktail napkin. He was growing visibly plump and as far as we could tell, very happy.
Note: when a paragraph ends as the last one did, something dreadful must follow, as surely as adagio follows allegro in a Baroque concerto. How I wish this blog entry were an exception, but it is not.
Mousie was living amongst giants, thousand-fold times his weight and stature. Yet he mingled with us as an equal, crawling over our house-slippers and pant-legs. We joked that he may eventually join us in bed--while half-wondering if his new-found pet status might lead to just that. By this morning we were altering our behavior for his sake, trying to avoid stepping on him by ever-looking downward. Learning from an incident yesterday, when I kicked him a yard across the floor, I had just begun the "shuffle"--walking without lifting my feet...
But late this morning, at approximately 11:30AM, I reverted to my normal gait while moving from pantry to kitchen, and I crushed Mousie underfoot. I immediately knew what the horrible sensation meant, and I cried out. L. and I, who had been talking about him just a minute before, saw that he was still alive but gravely injured--I will spare the details--and sprung into action toward a mercy killing. I already had a plan for this, and went the basement. L. was already there, in a panicked but activated state, helping me locate the needed instruments, two boards. But by the time I returned upstairs, the animal was motionless: he had died no more than a minute after the trauma began.
I cleaned Mousie while L. lined a large matchbox with tissues. We placed him in the cardboard coffin and decided to inform the kids after their school day was done and Nate (older brother of Miss) was finished with piano lesson. Instead, L. told Nate before the lesson. He was upset, but remained focused during the lesson. After his tutor left, Nate burst into tears and cried all the way home.
The four of us buried Mousie (Jaspert) in the back yard. L. prepared the elegy, and delivered it a quavering voice:
Today was a bad day
Our mouse, Jaspert, passed away.
You liked to scamper, hop & run
With you around we had such fun.
You never lived in a cage
You lived to be a ripe old age.
You will always be our mouse, wild & free
In our hearts you will always be.
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