Post by Die Fledermaus on Jul 1, 2006 21:10:46 GMT -4
Along with my confrere, Susan*, we did a little mouse rescuing recently. Here is the story; it is worth a read.
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And Here is the Photo Gallery.
The Luckiest Mouse in the World
By Marian Hailey-Moss
Before I could make my morning power drink, the phone rang. It was my friend and dog walker, Jennifer. “Know anyone who wants a mouse?”
A mouse! Tiny! Even smaller than a Chi (a Chihuahua, my dream pet). Easy! No need for walks or grooming. Thrifty! Doesn’t eat much. Caged! I looked down into the eyes of my terrier mix, Ruffy. No worries about sibling squabbles. Maybe this mouse was the perfect pet I’d been longing for. “Tell me more.”
“I saw it last week in the rainstorm,” Jennifer said. “Somebody threw it in its cage next to the garbage on 85th and West End with a bag of mouse food and a pet-store carrying case. I felt terrible but kept going. When I came back from walking a dog, someone had kicked the cage into the gutter. The storm had gotten worse and water was gushing through the wires of the cage. The mouse was huddled in its food bowl, quivering and shaking, trying to keep its head above water.”
“Poor thing,” I said.
“I started crying,” Jennifer said. “I couldn’t help it. It’s only a mouse, I said to myself, only a mouse. But I knew it has feelings and wants to live, just like everybody else.”
“Even a throwaway mouse wants to give life a chance.”
“So I picked up the cage and brought it home,” she said.
“Good girl.”
“That’s not what Mom said. She can’t stand it. And we’re having a Rottweiler visit tomorrow. Rotty hates small. I’m afraid it will…you know….”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Well, bring it on over.”
“It’s very sweet. I call it Li’l Bit. I’ll come this evening.”
I hung up and looked around. Where would I put a mouse? The worktable seemed the best. I cleared it, washed it, and put newspaper down. The mouse cage could sit on top. I was ready for my ideal pet.
Then I made my morning power drink.
I thought the day would never end. I Googled “mice as pets” and took a crash course in mouse care between taking Ruffy for his usual walks.
Finally evening arrived and so did Jennifer holding a plastic shoebox that looked like a small coffin.
“Did it die?” I asked.
“Why would I bring you a dead mouse?” Jennifer set the box on the worktable. Ruffy looked bored.
I looked through the opaque plastic. Sure enough, there was a little form that could be a mouse. “It’s wonderfully small.”
“It’s grown since I’ve had it.” Suddenly Jennifer looked horrified. “Maybe it’s a rat!”
“It’s a mouse,” I said. “Can it breathe? The air holes are just slits.”
“It survived a week.”
Li’l Bit stood on its hind legs as Jennifer opened the lid of the shoebox. It was all white and about two inches long. It could almost pass for a teeny teacup Chi, only smaller. In my mind’s eye I saw myself and Ruffy and Li’l Bit taking walks down Broadway. Li’l Bit wriggled its whiskers as Jennifer put two cut-off Poland Springs bottle bottoms into the box. She filled one with water and the other with food from the bag she must have found at the rescue site.
“You watch,” she said. “In the morning that newspaper will be chewed to pieces and Li’l Bit will make a nest out of it.”
“Resourceful,” I said. “Industrious.”
“Fast,” Jennifer said. “It lets me pet it but I dropped it on the floor once.”
“Ouch.”
“Thanks so much,” Jennifer said. “I’d keep it but you know, my mom…”
“Come back and visit it.”
“God Bless,” Jennifer said quickly as she rushed out the door.
The next morning I gave Li’l Bit some strawberry and banana in its makeshift food bowl, had my power drink, walked Ruffy, and headed to the Petco in my neighborhood. Li’l Bit needed some fancier digs.
There was quite a selection of rodent cages. I didn’t take the top-of-the-line three-story. Upward mobility and its ensuing feeling of progress are important but should be gradual. I wanted Li’l Bit to have something to look forward to in the years ahead. The one I picked was a two-story affair. This would be Li’l Bit’s starter to home improvement. The fun colors of blue, yellow, red, and green made me feel happy. I expected Li’l Bit would be happy too.
After paying for it, I asked one of the clerks to put it together for me.
“It’s simple,” he said. “Just follow the instructions.”
“Pretty please?”
An hour later, after “secured” parts had clattered to the floor, the Lord’s name had been taken in vain eight ways from Sunday, and the entire order Rodentia had been cursed to everlasting fire, the mini-manse was assembled. I gingerly carried it home and proudly placed it next to Li’l Bit’s shoebox. Li’l Bit would now have proper ventilation, a wheel for exercise, and a pipe-like gizmo that acted as stairway between the ground floor and the upper story and petting area.
Li’l Bit seemed blasé but then again it was hard to see the new mansion through opaque plastic. I sprinkled the bottom filler and mouse toys on the floor of the new home then opened the shoebox and tried to pick up Li’l Bit. It out moused me. I took it into the bathroom and closed the door just in case I dropped it. I tried with even more determination. The mouse website said to pick it up where the tail meets the backside. Still no luck. Frustrated, I carried the shoebox next to the open door of the new cage, opened the shoebox, and tapped hard on the bottom. Li’l Bit slid out of the shoebox and made a grand airborne entrance into its new home.
“Li’l Bit,” I said, “we’re going to set right all the trouble you’ve seen.”
Li’l Bit seemed overwhelmed and timid and stayed in one spot.
It was time to take Ruffy for a walk.
When Ruffy and I returned, he stopped at the door and sniffed. He was right—the apartment seemed different. Homier, maybe? Cozier with the new member to our household? Not quite. More like a weird pungent odor.
I went over to Li’l Bit’s new home. Li’l Bit preferred the second-floor petting area that was small, only about an inch and a half high. When I tapped on the top it ran into the pipe gizmo and hung suspended. Perhaps after all it had been through it needed more time. From the gutter to a two-story home in one week might amount to culture shock.
But what was that smell? I went into every room but couldn’t find the source. And then I remembered—the mouse website said that male mice have an odor. Could it be this strong and this pervasive?
I went back and gave Li’l Bit’s cage a couple of taps. As hoped, Li’l Bit ran to the pipe gizmo where, with much craning of my neck, I could have a look at Li’l Bit’s underbelly. Sure enough, there were two pick genital jewels almost as big as cranberries. Li’l Bit was a boy! And boy, did Li’l Bit stink of eau d’ p.u.!
I had to meditate.
After about a half an hour, I remembered Sean Casey.
I Googled.
Sean Casey rescues practically anything and not only that, New York Press Magazine had given his rescue outfit first-place award for the Best Animal Rescue in the city.
I called.
Luckily I got his assistant, Susan. I told her the whole heartbreaking story of Li’l Bit being thrown out of his home, kicked into the gutter, and narrowly missing the wrath of Rotty. But I just couldn’t live with the odor. “We call it the corn chip smell,” Susan said.
“How quaint.” Another snack scratched from my list. “Will you take Li’l Bit?” “Today is Friday,” Susan said. “How’s next Thursday?”
“Any chance tonight?”
I secured the tube gizmo with wide Scotch mailing tape. And just in case, I put the whole new cage with Li’l Bit inside into a large trash bag. I didn’t want him to get loose in the taxi. Li’l Bit was to arrive safely. The car service picked us up and Li’l Bit was successfully delivered to Susan’s door in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn along with a check for Li’l Bit’s mad money.
I called the next day. Susan said that Tom, the rodent fosterer, was so touched by hearing what Li’l Bit had been through that he would probably keep Li’l Bit as his own. Tom called Li’l Bit “the luckiest mouse in the world.”
Maybe someday I’ll visit and take Li’l Bit for a walk. Any idea where I can find a mouse leash? In the meantime, it’s just Ruffy and me.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
* - "Susan". See Animal Rescue forum/If You Need RESCUES in NEW YORK CITY.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
And Here is the Photo Gallery.
The Luckiest Mouse in the World
By Marian Hailey-Moss
Before I could make my morning power drink, the phone rang. It was my friend and dog walker, Jennifer. “Know anyone who wants a mouse?”
A mouse! Tiny! Even smaller than a Chi (a Chihuahua, my dream pet). Easy! No need for walks or grooming. Thrifty! Doesn’t eat much. Caged! I looked down into the eyes of my terrier mix, Ruffy. No worries about sibling squabbles. Maybe this mouse was the perfect pet I’d been longing for. “Tell me more.”
“I saw it last week in the rainstorm,” Jennifer said. “Somebody threw it in its cage next to the garbage on 85th and West End with a bag of mouse food and a pet-store carrying case. I felt terrible but kept going. When I came back from walking a dog, someone had kicked the cage into the gutter. The storm had gotten worse and water was gushing through the wires of the cage. The mouse was huddled in its food bowl, quivering and shaking, trying to keep its head above water.”
“Poor thing,” I said.
“I started crying,” Jennifer said. “I couldn’t help it. It’s only a mouse, I said to myself, only a mouse. But I knew it has feelings and wants to live, just like everybody else.”
“Even a throwaway mouse wants to give life a chance.”
“So I picked up the cage and brought it home,” she said.
“Good girl.”
“That’s not what Mom said. She can’t stand it. And we’re having a Rottweiler visit tomorrow. Rotty hates small. I’m afraid it will…you know….”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Well, bring it on over.”
“It’s very sweet. I call it Li’l Bit. I’ll come this evening.”
I hung up and looked around. Where would I put a mouse? The worktable seemed the best. I cleared it, washed it, and put newspaper down. The mouse cage could sit on top. I was ready for my ideal pet.
Then I made my morning power drink.
I thought the day would never end. I Googled “mice as pets” and took a crash course in mouse care between taking Ruffy for his usual walks.
Finally evening arrived and so did Jennifer holding a plastic shoebox that looked like a small coffin.
“Did it die?” I asked.
“Why would I bring you a dead mouse?” Jennifer set the box on the worktable. Ruffy looked bored.
I looked through the opaque plastic. Sure enough, there was a little form that could be a mouse. “It’s wonderfully small.”
“It’s grown since I’ve had it.” Suddenly Jennifer looked horrified. “Maybe it’s a rat!”
“It’s a mouse,” I said. “Can it breathe? The air holes are just slits.”
“It survived a week.”
Li’l Bit stood on its hind legs as Jennifer opened the lid of the shoebox. It was all white and about two inches long. It could almost pass for a teeny teacup Chi, only smaller. In my mind’s eye I saw myself and Ruffy and Li’l Bit taking walks down Broadway. Li’l Bit wriggled its whiskers as Jennifer put two cut-off Poland Springs bottle bottoms into the box. She filled one with water and the other with food from the bag she must have found at the rescue site.
“You watch,” she said. “In the morning that newspaper will be chewed to pieces and Li’l Bit will make a nest out of it.”
“Resourceful,” I said. “Industrious.”
“Fast,” Jennifer said. “It lets me pet it but I dropped it on the floor once.”
“Ouch.”
“Thanks so much,” Jennifer said. “I’d keep it but you know, my mom…”
“Come back and visit it.”
“God Bless,” Jennifer said quickly as she rushed out the door.
The next morning I gave Li’l Bit some strawberry and banana in its makeshift food bowl, had my power drink, walked Ruffy, and headed to the Petco in my neighborhood. Li’l Bit needed some fancier digs.
There was quite a selection of rodent cages. I didn’t take the top-of-the-line three-story. Upward mobility and its ensuing feeling of progress are important but should be gradual. I wanted Li’l Bit to have something to look forward to in the years ahead. The one I picked was a two-story affair. This would be Li’l Bit’s starter to home improvement. The fun colors of blue, yellow, red, and green made me feel happy. I expected Li’l Bit would be happy too.
After paying for it, I asked one of the clerks to put it together for me.
“It’s simple,” he said. “Just follow the instructions.”
“Pretty please?”
An hour later, after “secured” parts had clattered to the floor, the Lord’s name had been taken in vain eight ways from Sunday, and the entire order Rodentia had been cursed to everlasting fire, the mini-manse was assembled. I gingerly carried it home and proudly placed it next to Li’l Bit’s shoebox. Li’l Bit would now have proper ventilation, a wheel for exercise, and a pipe-like gizmo that acted as stairway between the ground floor and the upper story and petting area.
Li’l Bit seemed blasé but then again it was hard to see the new mansion through opaque plastic. I sprinkled the bottom filler and mouse toys on the floor of the new home then opened the shoebox and tried to pick up Li’l Bit. It out moused me. I took it into the bathroom and closed the door just in case I dropped it. I tried with even more determination. The mouse website said to pick it up where the tail meets the backside. Still no luck. Frustrated, I carried the shoebox next to the open door of the new cage, opened the shoebox, and tapped hard on the bottom. Li’l Bit slid out of the shoebox and made a grand airborne entrance into its new home.
“Li’l Bit,” I said, “we’re going to set right all the trouble you’ve seen.”
Li’l Bit seemed overwhelmed and timid and stayed in one spot.
It was time to take Ruffy for a walk.
When Ruffy and I returned, he stopped at the door and sniffed. He was right—the apartment seemed different. Homier, maybe? Cozier with the new member to our household? Not quite. More like a weird pungent odor.
I went over to Li’l Bit’s new home. Li’l Bit preferred the second-floor petting area that was small, only about an inch and a half high. When I tapped on the top it ran into the pipe gizmo and hung suspended. Perhaps after all it had been through it needed more time. From the gutter to a two-story home in one week might amount to culture shock.
But what was that smell? I went into every room but couldn’t find the source. And then I remembered—the mouse website said that male mice have an odor. Could it be this strong and this pervasive?
I went back and gave Li’l Bit’s cage a couple of taps. As hoped, Li’l Bit ran to the pipe gizmo where, with much craning of my neck, I could have a look at Li’l Bit’s underbelly. Sure enough, there were two pick genital jewels almost as big as cranberries. Li’l Bit was a boy! And boy, did Li’l Bit stink of eau d’ p.u.!
I had to meditate.
After about a half an hour, I remembered Sean Casey.
I Googled.
Sean Casey rescues practically anything and not only that, New York Press Magazine had given his rescue outfit first-place award for the Best Animal Rescue in the city.
I called.
Luckily I got his assistant, Susan. I told her the whole heartbreaking story of Li’l Bit being thrown out of his home, kicked into the gutter, and narrowly missing the wrath of Rotty. But I just couldn’t live with the odor. “We call it the corn chip smell,” Susan said.
“How quaint.” Another snack scratched from my list. “Will you take Li’l Bit?” “Today is Friday,” Susan said. “How’s next Thursday?”
“Any chance tonight?”
I secured the tube gizmo with wide Scotch mailing tape. And just in case, I put the whole new cage with Li’l Bit inside into a large trash bag. I didn’t want him to get loose in the taxi. Li’l Bit was to arrive safely. The car service picked us up and Li’l Bit was successfully delivered to Susan’s door in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn along with a check for Li’l Bit’s mad money.
I called the next day. Susan said that Tom, the rodent fosterer, was so touched by hearing what Li’l Bit had been through that he would probably keep Li’l Bit as his own. Tom called Li’l Bit “the luckiest mouse in the world.”
Maybe someday I’ll visit and take Li’l Bit for a walk. Any idea where I can find a mouse leash? In the meantime, it’s just Ruffy and me.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
* - "Susan". See Animal Rescue forum/If You Need RESCUES in NEW YORK CITY.
Im pretty sure you got a CT cage for him. Sure better then a shoe box. 
