Life on a vineyard, and more than just mine.
It was in the middle of a heat wave when an unexpected visitor arrived. All over town the power was out, and consequently air conditioning as well. We invited our A/C less friends over for an impromptu gathering based around our slightly less hot home. Windows and doors were flung open to take advantage of the foothill breeze. We sat around the fountain, feeling the mist rising off of it as it evaporated into the night air. Borrowing Spoon’s guitar, Mark strummed and sang taking requests and making his own montage of classic country and rock and roll. One by one we drifted off to our respective sleeping places.
From the master bedroom a pair of French doors open onto the back yard—an oasis of fruit trees, vegetables, and grass. With the doors open the nightly screech of the owls with just such names enter the room, accosting our ears and sending the dog into a frenzy. Apparently this evening was too hot, even for them, and all was quiet. I left the patio doors open and slipped into bed. It was during this respite that our guest arrived. Quiet as a mouse has never been a more accurate description.
The next morning,moving sleeping from the bedroom to the bathroom, I was jolted awake by the vision of a small mammal in the bottom of the tub. Crouched, near the drain, was a dusty brown field mouse. More inquisitive than scared she sat watching me as I performed my morning rituals at the sink. I watched her watch me for a while and with a plan in mind I went off in search of a bucket, a cracker and some peanut butter. When I returned she was gone.
Armed with the aforementioned accoutrements I stood slack jawed wondering where she could have gone. In her seated position she had appeared too large to fit down the drain and the slick, steep and deep sides of the tub posed a second obstacle; nevertheless she was gone. I shrugged and walked away with my house made humane trap under one arm. That evening as I took a shower I could have sworn that there were mouse droppings in the tub that had not been there previously.
The next morning, she greeted me again. Together we washed our faces. She sat and pondered me as I reached down to closed the drain. Only then did she leave her squatting position to run around the drain, no doubt searching for her doorway. I felt a pang of guilt; I had forced a refugee. Now sure she wasn’t going anywhere I gathered my tools and with ease had her under my control. Then it hit me. What if she hadn’t come in from the bedroom, but rather from a hole in the drain? And even more concerning was the possibility of a nest of now motherless babies. I released her back into the tub where she quickly scampered home to her growing community that now included a husband and extended family. I left the cracker and peanut butter in her charge.
It took but one more day for it to became apparent to me that I had, once again, let my imagination get the better of me. The ever-increasing mouse droppings and the slowly diminishing cracker were mounting evidence that she had no way out and it was up to me to save her. I began by running the water, at a mere drizzle, so that she may have something fresh to drink. Then I sat and waited. She did not appear. Over the next few days I rarely, if ever saw her, and never all of her. I was lucky if the tip of her tail could be seen disappearing into the water drain. If it weren’t for her expanding piles of refuse one would never know a field mouse had taken up residence in our home. After a week had passed and there were but a few mouse bites left on the cracker I saw her again as she had been that first morning. She looked at me in a new light now, with suspicion in her eyes, and wouldn’t let me get close enough to trap her again. I worried I had missed my chance and daydreamed about feeding and watering her for the rest of her days while surreptitiously avoiding any human use of the tub.
And then my chance came. It was morning, yet again, and there she was, asleep, at the bottom of the tub. I closed the drain at which point she awoke and repeated her dive for her now blocked doorway, only this time I did not feel guilty. She had grown wise to me and efforts to trap her in my bedside trashcan proved more difficult than before. Finally with the aide of my trusty spatula I scooted her into the can and together we went outside to set her free.
From the master bedroom a pair of French doors open onto the back yard—an oasis of fruit trees, vegetables, and grass. With the doors open the nightly screech of the owls with just such names enter the room, accosting our ears and sending the dog into a frenzy. Apparently this evening was too hot, even for them, and all was quiet. I left the patio doors open and slipped into bed. It was during this respite that our guest arrived. Quiet as a mouse has never been a more accurate description.
The next morning,moving sleeping from the bedroom to the bathroom, I was jolted awake by the vision of a small mammal in the bottom of the tub. Crouched, near the drain, was a dusty brown field mouse. More inquisitive than scared she sat watching me as I performed my morning rituals at the sink. I watched her watch me for a while and with a plan in mind I went off in search of a bucket, a cracker and some peanut butter. When I returned she was gone.
Armed with the aforementioned accoutrements I stood slack jawed wondering where she could have gone. In her seated position she had appeared too large to fit down the drain and the slick, steep and deep sides of the tub posed a second obstacle; nevertheless she was gone. I shrugged and walked away with my house made humane trap under one arm. That evening as I took a shower I could have sworn that there were mouse droppings in the tub that had not been there previously.
The next morning, she greeted me again. Together we washed our faces. She sat and pondered me as I reached down to closed the drain. Only then did she leave her squatting position to run around the drain, no doubt searching for her doorway. I felt a pang of guilt; I had forced a refugee. Now sure she wasn’t going anywhere I gathered my tools and with ease had her under my control. Then it hit me. What if she hadn’t come in from the bedroom, but rather from a hole in the drain? And even more concerning was the possibility of a nest of now motherless babies. I released her back into the tub where she quickly scampered home to her growing community that now included a husband and extended family. I left the cracker and peanut butter in her charge.
It took but one more day for it to became apparent to me that I had, once again, let my imagination get the better of me. The ever-increasing mouse droppings and the slowly diminishing cracker were mounting evidence that she had no way out and it was up to me to save her. I began by running the water, at a mere drizzle, so that she may have something fresh to drink. Then I sat and waited. She did not appear. Over the next few days I rarely, if ever saw her, and never all of her. I was lucky if the tip of her tail could be seen disappearing into the water drain. If it weren’t for her expanding piles of refuse one would never know a field mouse had taken up residence in our home. After a week had passed and there were but a few mouse bites left on the cracker I saw her again as she had been that first morning. She looked at me in a new light now, with suspicion in her eyes, and wouldn’t let me get close enough to trap her again. I worried I had missed my chance and daydreamed about feeding and watering her for the rest of her days while surreptitiously avoiding any human use of the tub.
And then my chance came. It was morning, yet again, and there she was, asleep, at the bottom of the tub. I closed the drain at which point she awoke and repeated her dive for her now blocked doorway, only this time I did not feel guilty. She had grown wise to me and efforts to trap her in my bedside trashcan proved more difficult than before. Finally with the aide of my trusty spatula I scooted her into the can and together we went outside to set her free.
posted by Charity Anais @ 12:15 AM
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