It’s a small thing, but my house mouse garnered a lot of attention when I started writing about him on my FaceBook page, the type that makes a mouse quiver in his tiny nest built of purloined tea bags. Calls for electrocution ran high.

In the end, we procrastinated with our Amazon purchased safe traps. Neither Art nor I stepped up to bait the live traps because then we’d have to deal with dropping him somewhere in a snowy park, far from the crumbs and warmth of our cottage. Instead, I did massive cleaning and tucked everything into Mason jars and canisters.

House Mouse “evidence” disappeared though we saw him occasionally meander by, not in a hurry. Hell, the good stuff was gone.

And then I went away for 2 weeks. First night back, Art: the mouse ate half of 2 protein bars. Said bars, handy and reachable in Art’s lunchbag. Next up, a clear assault on the CDB dog cookies from Waffles, our Lhasa Apso, Christmas stocking. We had a hyped up, chilled out mouse. How would that go?

Next night, we found Mickey, lost to the world, permanently. And me, being me, felt guilty. I Googled. Field mice only live about a year. Given that he never formally checked in, it’s hard to know. Heart failure? CDB? Old age? But he’s gone, not a trace or track of any since. He was clearly not a mob mouse, but solo operative. I’m kinda glad he got the extra month. #housemouse#mickey#itsthelittlethings#allgodscritters