Monday, February 01, 2016
But we must have injured it, for there was blood by my phone – just a small amount, someone said, a 'flesh wound', and I quipped* that for a human to spill the equivalent amount of blood would equate to gallons. Anyway, there was nothing else to do. I sterilised my desk and phone and got on with my work.
After lunch I came back to the desk and looked for something in my bag – and there was the mouse, snuggled into one of the pockets, not moving. Everyone gathered round (except the girls – seriously, I'm not being sexist or stereotypical – but they are all absolutely petrified of mice) and peered in. It was alive – frightened and wounded, but alive. A colleague and I took the mouse outside, unsure of where to put it. We put it by a bush in the courtyard. My colleague went back upstairs. I stayed to watch it. Poor thing, it hobbled around, then started limping into the middle of the courtyard, where people are always walking. Someone did almost step on him and I nearly had to push him aside: "Look out for the mouse!" I exclaimed. The mouse was almost the same colour as the cobblestones in the courtyard. I texted my colleague, told him to bring down some cake (there's always cake in the office).
I put my hands down in front of the mouse, and it crawled onto them. I stroked it. It was so cute – little feet, little whiskers, little nose. It looked like it had little hope of survival. My colleague came down with cake and we set it down near a hole in one of the adjacent buildings. And left it to it – what else could we do? I was tempted to take it home, but was going out that evening and didn't want it squashed in my coat or bag. I went back down half an hour later – the cake and the mouse were gone, hopefully a good sign.
*Like in my dreams and fantasies, in my stories too I'm always the one who takes control of the situation and provides the jokes – though in this case, true.