It sounded like one of those door jam alarms. A very loud chirping. I had no clue what the source of the sound could be. It was foreign in the home. I knew we had nothing electronic which sounded like that.
Sitting on the couch, I looked over in the direction of the sound but, of course, all looked normal.
A few minutes later I noticed Suzette, our precious Shitzu, was not within my eyesight. I looked back over my shoulder and she was sitting, looking at the closet door. I went over and she was searching and sniffing, looking for something. I moved a few things around in the closet but ended up telling “Suz” there was nothing going on. I shut the closet door and we both returned to the couch area.
As I was typing on my laptop, a black shadow walked across the floor nearby. Hello, little mouse.
Suz watched me chase after the unwanted visitor into the kitchen until it disappeared under the stove. She sat on the floor, scanning the room continuously, a “watch” dog.
I set out for a long overdue scrubbing of the kitchen counters, cabinets, and floor.
An hour later I stepped into the hallway and saw our little visitor run under my daughter’s door. There was no way I would find the mouse in her room. I didn’t want to venture far from the door as I didn’t want it to run out some place else why I was poking around.
There I stood in the hallway, holding a broom, waiting to pounce. Like some animation from a children’s movie, the mouse poked his head around the corner of the door, saw me standing there and fled back into the room.
My daughter arrived at home. She screamed when she saw the mouse run into her bathroom.
Ah, the fatal mistake! I had my little furry friend cornered as I stood blocking the only way out.
I began to poke and prod with the broom and the mouse began to chirp as it ran from wall to wall and along the edge of the tub. At one point I had the mouse trapped against the wall, held captive by the bristles of the broom. It was chirping.
I’ve asked my daughter over and over to not leave her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. But opportunity presented itself as the mouse ran into her clothes. I moved the pile into the tub and removed one item at a time, until all that was left was an undergarment and a mouse.
My daughter provided the background music as she screamed. The mouse was chirping away, a multi-species duet.
I could have flushed it down the drain. I could have tossed it into the toilet. I could have crushed it with the broom. I even had the passing thought of using my air gun.
But there was something about the chirping that got to me. This was a creature with emotions. The mouse was in great fear, as I read on the Internet later. It was terrified, first by Suzette an hour or two earlier and now by the giant with the broom.
I had a spiritual encounter. I had compassion. Certainly, God loves even the little mice. He gave even them emotion. He gave even them a desire to live and the natural instinct to flee danger. Why? Because He loves them, just as He does the “birds of the air” who He feeds (Matthew 6:26). This little creature was, well, like me, like all of us. We all know fear in this scary world. And in this moment, I, in a small symbolic fashion, held the power of life and death over this creature like God holds over me. I continue to live and breathe despite my rebellion from God. I should do the same for the little mouse.
I set it free in the playground near the home on the dark, cold, and wet Friday evening.
And then I went out and bought some mouse traps. I am not God. My compassion is short-lived for a disgusting rodent! Let’s hope my little spiritual object lesson doesn’t trespass again.