R.I.P. Nelson

I had a pet mouse.

It did not come with a plastic cage with a bag of shredded newspaper, a wheel, or a water bottle and I did not name it Nelson*. It was thrust upon me quite unwillingly Saturday morning at approximately 5:30 am when I awoke to the realization that someone--or something--was trying to scratch through the wall next to my bed. As it turned out, I wasn't thinking quite rationally at 5:30--walls are pretty thick--but something was enjoying the collapsed boxes under the bed, every so often scurrying out to rustle the plastic bags in my closet. I glimpsed it on one such occasion, as it sped across my floor--or its floor, as it had been for the last weekend--I was unable to contain my scream at the sight of the small, dark body and long tail, so I grabbed my bedding and left.

I put up a good fight for my room Saturday, spending the better part of the day sitting on the windowsill in my dining room (the furthest place from my room that's still inside). Later I pawed through my stuff with a broom, trying to catch it in a box and take it down to the park. It refused to cooperate, hiding in the shadows of the late-afternoon sun, so I set out four plastic graves filled with glue and peanut butter, thinking I would find a stuck, still mouse when I returned home. Well, it was alive and kicking, speeding across its floor at the switch of the light, grinning at the fun it had this weekend, leaving dark pellets all over my clothes, tearing my paper, and doing whatever the hell else it is mice do to make people despise them so. It was alive and kicking, that is, before the pest control man came to fight, armed with more sticky sheets.

Poor Nelson. It fell from heaven into my room and, this morning, it fell from my hand into the dumpster downstairs. To be sure, I won't soon forget him. He will be the first thing I think of every time I enter my room, every time I stick my hand in a dark crevice or box, every time I lay my head down to go to sleep, every time I hear a rustle a squeak or a scratch. Thank you, Nelson, for bringing so much to my life even though you're so small. I hope you enjoyed your accommodations in my room. Excuse me, your room.

Note: Credit where credit is due... Pronoun "I" has been used in place of "he" or "she" on some occasions, especially those where "I" came into direct or indirect contact with my pet/pest.

*My roommates and I named him after the pest control guy, Nelson.