Had to wake up early this morning for a meeting at home. So long as I'm up, I might as well run some errands. And this time I had time for to take Grandmother to the grocery store.
What do I see when I open the garage door and go to open my car door? A rat, trapped in the glue that My Father set on the driver's side floor. Like the mouse I saw in the kitchen, it was struggling; it was trying to move itself forward, even though it may not be because it wanted to break free so much as it was scared of my presence. Unlike the previous mouse, however, this guy was much smaller. He was/is a baby.
I'm imaging him now ... just a guy, exploring his world, maybe getting a bite to eat, nothing to do on an early Saturday morning but certainly not wanting to hurt anyone. He takes a few steps in the wrong direction ... and he's stuck. And he's trying to move, but he can't. And he doesn't know why. And he's scared. He wants to leave, he'll even try breaking his own legs, but to no avail.
I may be innoculated to all this after going through the trauma of seeing the death of the first mouse. I had to go get groceries with Grandmother. And this proves that we have a rat problem; there's another dead mouse in another glue trap on the other side of the garage. Guess we'll have to deal with that some time soon. For all of those reasons, I shuddered a little bit, then went the long way around my car to open the front door. When I came back I parked it outside because I have more things to do.
And all the while, in the dank and dark garage, there's this baby mouse stuck in glue, possibly jerking itself forward in vain, probably coming to the realization that there is no hope, and that he will die in the most painful way possible: paralyzed, slowly, starving.
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