(Doesn’t that sound like the title of a children’s book?)
We have a mouse in our house. Her name is Nibbles, and we are taking care of her for some friends who are out of town. She is a very pleasant creature who sleeps all day, runs on her wheel all night, and electrifies the rather hum-drum life of our dog.
I am guessing that many centuries have passed since any of Bean’s ancestors had to hunt for their food, and as a result she is left with only the confused remnants of instinct when it comes to rodents. The scent of mouse fills her with adrenaline but she doesn’t really know what to do next. She has shown no inclination to eat Nibbles, but if the mouse moves at all the dog is instantly on alert.
After a time, however, such close proximity makes her uncomfortable and she wanders off to watch from a safe distance.
Josh decided to try (gently) rolling the mouse’s ball toward Sabina, and each time the mouse moved she took three careful steps backward.
That’s our little huntress.
As you can tell, life in our little apartment is pleasantly full right now, what with the adults, the ever-growing babe, the dog, and the Christmas mouse. This didn’t stop me from petitioning very hard for a kitten (does being pregnant make you want babies of other species as well?), but husband pointed out that the timing wasn’t great and I really wouldn’t want to smell litterbox every day. Wise man. Didn’t stop me from envisioning the perfect little mewling grey tabby, but I guess I can be patient.
Our Christmas shopping is done, our packages are shipped, and our tree is looking fuller every day, so we are planning to sit back, relax, and hope for the snow that we almost certainly won’t get. I don’t suppose that any of you folks in the Northwest would like to share?