A Letter to a Mouse

Dear Mr. Mouse,

First of all, let me apologize for the unfortunate incident that took place in my dining room a short while ago. I hope you understand it was never my intention to actually kill you. I merely wanted to capture you under the plastic bin and direct you towards the front door so you could escape off into the bushes. I'm afraid that in my panic as you scurried towards me my aim was off and I inadvertently pinned your waist under the edge of the bin. I would have lifted it immediately, but I did not realize your lower body was paralyzed and I was afraid you might run back under the stove.

In my defense, I gave you ample opportunity to run out the front or back door. It was obvious the cat was not a serious threat and on that note, I must say I admire your ability to escape his clutches numerous times.

I'll always remember our times together. Do you remember that first time we met? I was putting some clothes in the kids' dress-up bin and out you popped. You ran off before I could introduce myself, but you made quite an impression on me. Then that Sunday afternoon about a month later when we ran into each other at the doorway to my bedroom, not once, but twice! That was hilarious, or at least Bob thought so when I called him from my perch on the kitchen counter and urged him to come home quickly to meet you himself. I even tossed the cat into my room to keep you company in the meantime, and I was appalled he didn't even acknowledge your presence. He merely hopped onto the bed and fell asleep. Cats can be so rude!

I was thrilled when Bob finally got to meet you last Friday morning in the kitchen. You and Kisses were playing your little games and Bob tried in vain to convince you two to play outside. If only you had listened.

If we had met under different circumstances, maybe things could have been different. If I lived in an apartment in a big city like say, New York, I could have left crumbs on the floor for you to nibble on after I left for my fabulous, high-paying job. It would have been like having my own private maid service, or at the very least a little secret pet that no one saw but me.

But you see, I live in a suburban neighborhood. And even though we all know I don't have the cleanest house on the block, people might still find it shocking that a mouse felt comfortable enough to reside there for an extended period of time. They wouldn't have understood the relationship we had. Plus, there's also the fact that behind one of those hallway doors I shut quickly but quietly is my precious little 1-yr-old daughter and when I thought of her, I saw you in a different light. You were no longer the cute little scamp playing tag with the cat and picking up the crumbs in front of my stove. You were, dare I say it, a disease-infested vermin and you had to go!

Again, I apologize for the abrupt goodbye and I hope you didn't suffer too much as a result. Believe me when I say I'll remember you for a long time to come. Every time I open the door or turn on the light in my garage, bedroom, or kitchen, I'll pause for a moment and think of you.

Fondly,
Vicki