Mouse Guest

There are certain things people don't tell about themselves. Especially certain things that seem to run against commonly accepted views. And so I had to think very hard whether or not to tell this story.

Even honest people hesitate to share opinions or personal experiences they think will only make their friends think they're losing a few of their marbles. Or cause neighbors to feast on them for their own entertainment. Why go out of your way to make a laughing stock of yourself?

I don't claim to be a very honest person. Truth to tell, I do occasionally conceal or bend facts in trying to avoid hurting people. I shake hands and share jokes with people I dislike, when good social manners call for it.

I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but last weekend I had an experience that I can't get out of my mind. I had a face-to-face encounter with a supposed enemy. As you would guess, there ensued a fierce struggle-not with the enemy though, but with myself.

My Saturdays and Sundays are wholly devoted to reading and writing. Every few minutes, I'd get up, either fix myself a cup of coffee or chat with little neighborhood kids who habitually gather at my door. I've read that sitting for long hours hinders good blood circulation.    

Towards noon of Saturday, I took an early lunch, after which I positioned myself before the TV, a cup of coffee in hand. An hour or so of rest, I thought, wouldn't be much of an interruption to my usual routine. I stretched my legs, put one hand behind my head trying to recline on a monoblock chair, and started scanning the channels.

Just as I had barely settled myself, a little creature showed up atop the TV set. It startled me, although I had been hearing noises that hinted there were a few of them in the house. It was a mouse.

Keeping still was the thing to do; any big movement on my part would certainly scare the creature away. I pretended not to notice its presence. Mice are supposedly intelligent, and the slightest indication that I was watching would surely cause this one to dart off. I was trying to bide time to think of what move to take.

The tiny animal just sat there, keenly observing me. As if it was trying to figure out what I was doing or whether I was sad or happy. It didn't look anything like the pest that I previously thought mice to be. In fact, it appeared meek and harmless. 

The minute seemed like a very long time. Then, finally, as I cautiously raised the coffee cup to my mouth for a sip, our eyes met. The little head bent, as if in coy salutation. I tried to appear like I didn't mean any harm, that we could be friends. But I think my guest didn't quite get me; it turned and slowly walked away.

Shortly, there sounded a shrieking noise. It was coming from the corner where several empty shoeboxes were stacked. I switched more house lights on and tiptoed towards the spot.

I carefully picked out the uppermost box and opened it. Nothing. The noise stopped. I stopped, too, and stood absolutely still until I heard it again. I picked out the next box, then the next, until I was down to the last.

And there it was-not just one mouse but a bunch of three little ones with their mother! The little ones were only about a little over an inch long each. They looked like short black fingers squirming. The mother must have just given birth to them a few minutes earlier.

The mother looked terrified at my intrusion. But she didn't run away nor did it seem like she ever intended to. She firmly stayed put, right beside her little ones.

The sight overwhelmed me. A certain feeling held me back from further disturbing the helpless family. I was seized with guilt, too, because just a few days before I had bought poison pellets for mice. It was the only way I could think of to drive the rodents away.

The poison pellets would make the mice go blind first, and then they'd slowly die. As their eyesight grows dim, they'd seek for more light. Hence, the lesser possibility of having dead mice hidden in dark, hard-to-reach recesses and crannies and, so, easier to put them away.  

My neighbor said it was cruel that way, and circuitous. He suggested those glue mats, instead. Once a mouse is caught I could smash the head with a piece of wood, he said. The advice got me all the more confused, so I put the poison pellets aside meanwhile, until I could thoroughly think the matter over.  

Now it's completely out of the question. I have gotten rid of the poison pellets, thrown it in the toilet. Certain things have occurred to me.

What offense had that mouse done to me? It had not destroyed any of my clothes or other belongings. It had not robbed me of any food item that I still intended to consume. Instead, that mother mouse had shown me a heartwarming example of parental love.

Mice do all they could in order to survive and keep their families safe. They make do with whatever human leftovers or refuse they could find, whatever inch of spare space to inhabit. They could not work as call center agents or run an ukay-ukay business, or do gardening and raise crops to feed themselves, or own a decent dwelling on installment.

In the big scheme of things, a mouse is just being what it is meant to be-a mouse. Unlike humans, mice don't have the intellectual capacity to uplift their being. And yet, many humans cannot even get out of the rut they find themselves in. Many humans misbehave and are indeed terrible pests to their fellow humans.

So why should I punish a lowly creature that is simply following the dictates of its nature? Even granting that mice could potentially do damage to my belongings and my health, it doesn't seem fair to impose penalty for a crime not yet committed. I am the superior creature, so it is upon me to extend utmost consideration.

I need to exercise caution, of course, and be on the guard always. If I don't want mice around, I shall be responsible enough to keep the house clear of anything that will draw them in. I shall keep foodstuff safely away such that nothing of it is perceptible or accessible to mice, absolutely with no smell of anything edible leaking out.

Or maybe, if I choose to be really kind, I shall go out of my way to feed the mice instead. I can put food in a trough and place it away in a safe section of the house, where there's nothing valuable that can be damaged. If I feed them regularly in one place, perhaps they may not have to wander all over the house looking for food.

There's no guarantee, though, that these ideas will work. I am no mouse psychologist and can't approximate what goes on in mice's mind. But I will try my best, bend backwards if need be, to be nice and fair to these creatures - and all other lowly creatures, for that matter - because of all the animals there are I belong to the highest class, blessed with the amazing capacity for reason and compassion.

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