News & Articles

Not every day do I come by innocent accident upon something truly unique. But no denying. A Masochist Suicidal Mouse (hereafter MSM) makes its way almost instantly to the top rank of my WHAT? File. 

I don’t ID the local mice, a duty I believe falls under the department of Urban Offers, often located in courthouse basements behind the D – Con door. But, it’s quite possible I encountered MSM a few weeks ago when I surprised a similar looking (my bias shows, but mice do rather look alike, unlike shrews or voles which tend to look like shrews or voles, depending) mousey. 

Anyway, surprised by my sudden (at my age, sudden is rare and memorable) appearance he-she-it mousey did a panic up-the-wall escape. (Great climbers, mice; don’t be lulled to think otherwise.)
In a world of out-of-sight-out-of-mind, an unseen mouse is a good mouse, if, that is, it’s not remembered. In truth, if it be told, forgetting the image of a four-inch streak of fur going like a non-winged mouse (there’s a fine German word for that) out of (to complete the set) hell, or Hades if you prefer. 

Not that mice are vicious, but sudden appearance is startling. I have good evidence to support that. Therefore, on each subsequent time I neared the mouse appearance zone I grew slightly and warily uneasy.

If you’ll allow some history (relax, not Roman or Greek) I’ll relate an earlier time witnessing impressive mouse climbing. After it’s winter repose in the canoe shed, the Porsche (my father’s who’d recently died – aren’t possessives interesting) needed firing up. Which I did, ignorant of the drama created. 

First hint was a hint of movement seen fleetingly in the side mirror. “Hmmm? What was that? – Looks like, like stuff flying out the Abarth (a detail for the fanciers among you). 

Once running, I wasn’t about to call quits until the engine was warmed. Each time giving gas sent more mystery stuff flying out the exhaust. 

Once the engine warm and able to idle by itself, I exited (which these days if I were to manage getting in the car, I’d have to be buried in it, a 356 (year of Alexander’s birth, BC) C coffin.

What I found scattered on the concrete was a memorable dramatic tragedy in the form of dead leaves and other scraps that had lately been a snug mouse nest until, unknown to the fated builder, someone (guilted party raises his hand) set out on “start dad’s car day.” 

I mourn not for spat out leaves. No. Was the hairless mouse infants that proved touching. Imagine it. Safe as can be in a steel cave your mouse family life is snugly secure until. 

It was sad. Poor little soon-to-be rodent (not known for growing-up dawdling) toddlers scattered, spat out when their sanctuary was shot out and scattered. Sad. 

But, yet there was hope in the way of a mouse mother (looking singed, but remarkably witted for just having been expelled from a circus cannon) hanging onto an offspring while heroically climbing 15 feet straight up into the canoe shed rafters. 

Now that, that right there, was more resolve and devotion than found in the best pamphlet for planning your parenthood by abandonment, which would likely have been my route were I Ma Mouse.

It is a long time since I witnessed the scene of rodent heroism and pluck. If, as some might say, it was only instinct at work, well, damned good and strong instinct say. Shot out of a circus cannon and I’d not be more likely to say “Get me to the ER” rather than “Save the kiddies!” 

Plus, there was physical courage involved in not only facing but accomplishing the above normal climb, the canoe shed having been built to store my 25-foot canoe cradled high in the cross ties. 

A few inches long, shot out an exhaust and not better for it, Ma Mouse (deserving of a medal I’d say) did what for me would have absolutely been impossible. Maybe not a miracle (things formerly limited to yellow journalism (somewhat more mainstream these days) accounts obscure Italian villages where 10-year-old virgin boys (formerly girls, I’ve updated) gave birth to triplets to the astonishment of all. 

Astonishing it had to be. I’ll leave unbelievable for the miracles and go with remarkable for Mother Mouse.

But then in possible contradiction of a worthy lived experience regarding rodent heroism I had to stumble (but, being barefoot, fortunately didn’t) on the masochist suicide example of the species. Takes all kinds runs wider than Sapiens, seems. 

You may, as have I, heard the assertion that if a rodent can get its head past a gap the rodent remainder will follow. Seems reasonable enough, not that I’m aware of proof. I bring this up because either MSM was given faulty info from the World-Book of Mouse Facts or was masochistically suicidal. 

To be honest and showing biases on my side, I like either or both interpretations because what else of weight and merit can be said of a mouse with head and one shoulder through a gap when the O-NO moment arrived. At that point a complaint to the mouse book publishers was too late, meaning there’s also no way of checking further into that side of the story.

We are left, then, with a cute, big-eared, whiskered head poked along with one shoulder through a gap. If not an example of deadly mousekind misinformation the alternative is MSM. I know not else how to, Grammarly or elsewise, put it. 

The current puzzle of mouse mortality shows me how fortune favored I was having Ma Mouse’s bold action remove any doubt. With Ma it was plain without doubt. MSM, however, is literally caught between not only two fates but dueling interpretations as well. Isn’t nature special?

Carefully passing daily as I do MSM’s mouseecution, I’m reminded of the garden snake that appeared in my house one evening. Ever since I’ve become wary of any and all extension cords, especially in poor light and barefoot. 

That’s, however, nothing compared to 1959  China’s anti-rodent push requiring people to bring a dead mouse to a local office. No, I’m not kidding.