MindSpinner

The brown mouse lives because he declined to die of fright, which ought to be a lesson to us all. We’re not quite sure how he’s doing because he isn’t getting around much, but he’s safe in a very large jar, with a little hankie-sized blanket, a bottle cap full of water and a dozen or so wheat berries for whenever he gets hungry. I found him huddled in the bathroom closet, content to let me scoop him up (with a scoop). He was exhausted, though not visibly injured. He’d already supped full of horrors and nothing could scare him any more, not even a great hairless, long-fingered paw like mine. I’d gotten no farther than the hallway with him when dark-haired daughter intercepted us and announced his adoption, declaring that we couldn’t put him out in the cold. Far be it from me to offer a counter argument - I wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror and recognize myself. So there’s still a mouse in the house.