Country Living Catastrophe

I was visiting with a girlfriend today about cat behavior and how despite being domesticated house pets share wild counterparts’ behaviors. This discussion retrieved a nearly forgotten memory involving two kids, a bike, a cat, and a mouse.

The adventure began on one of those sensational spring evenings when the wind doesn’t blow and the sun sinks slowly into the horizon making your system vibrate so that even though you’re tired, you aren’t ready to settle down. Just as I called the girls inside for their bath, a squall emerged from our rural driveway where our eldest was practicing riding her bike without training wheels. She’d mastered starting, stopping, and turning so I’d gone in to draw their water.

Racing outside, I found her sprawled in gravel.  Thankfully there were no broken bones, but after close investigation, I saw pebbles and dirt chunks embedded in her knees and palms. I guided her into the house where she could soak it loose in the tub, making it easier to remove. As I led one sobbing child up the steps, I spied our youngest trying to take something away from the cat. So much for hindsight, I’d think later.

I comforted tear-stained kid 1 while she trickled water over skinned appendages when I heard a shriek from child number 2. She raced into the bathroom with something dangling from her finger. She held it out to show her sis, and I observed a mouse--yes, a writhing rodent attached to her index finger.

Daughter 1 joined little sister’s howls while the mouse wriggled and contributed squeals of its own. However, it didn’t let go. At that point the cat raced in to check on the prize that he’d caught and been tormenting before our fair-haired girl intervened.

At this point, I’m scared the critter will fall into the bathtub furthering injuring daughter 1 so I guided little sis’s bleeding hand over the commode. In turn, she bangs the hitchhiker on the toilet rim. When our feline leapt to recapture his prey, I abandoned our toddler long enough to toss the cat and slam the door. Curiously, that action multiplied the volume in the bathroom, perhaps inducing the mouse to release its vise-like grip and somersault into the toilet.

Someone, and I suspect it was me, flushed the stool. I know I didn’t have a carcass when the thought of rabies flitted across my mind. Of course, my husband was at work and out of reach so I told kid 1 to keep soaking her wounds. I disinfected kid 2’s bite and comforted her as I simultaneously called the emergency room to see if we needed shots.

The good news was we didn’t. The bite victim contentedly sported a Band-Aid on her injured digit while I picked gravel from her sibling. It wasn’t painless, but the extended soak that left daughter 1 wrinkled like a prune made it easier to clean her wounds.

By the time their dad returned, sleep was the last thing on anyone’s mind. We had red badges of courage and stories to tell. The only one in the house still upset was the cat who meowed repeatedly over his lost snack.