Mice

For as long as I can remember, I've had a weird fascination with mice.
Maybe it was Beatrix Potter's illustrations, or the story "Mrs Frisby & the Rats of NIMH" that made me sympathetic to their fear-filled lives, and wee faces...I'm fairly sure it was fiction of some sort. When I was little I memorized a poem and it went something like this:

I think mice are rather nice.
Their tails are long, their faces small;
They haven't any chin at all.
Their ears are pink, their teeth are white;
They run about the house at night;
They nibble things they shouldn't touch,
and no one seems to like them much,
But I think mice are rather nice.

(Rose Fyleman...I looked it up)

Yes, its true. I have a soft spot for mice.
Don't get me wrong-- I do NOT like to have mice sharing my residence, and I do NOT like to find them scurrying around my feet!! There is no doubt that they are germ-infested, and a pest in the household. But mice living in their natural habitat in the wild...I think they are rather nice!
But they have such hard lives! They are food for pretty much everything bigger than them, and they live in constant fear.

So it made me sad today when Mike spotted an adorable chubster that had fallen onto the winter tarp over our pool. He looked so pathetic and scared. I wanted to cuddle him.
Not really.
Well, ok, sort of.
Luckily, he was unhurt...though he did get a good dousing when Mike tried to rescue him with a rake and he fell off. And then he got catapulted over the fence into the yard. I didn't see him after that, but I hope he is ok, and that he lives a long and prosperous life...just not in our house.