On a late February day—the 27th, to be exact—my children found a small white mouse sitting in a cage at the edge of the woods at a local park. Although no longer wanted by his owner, his cage contained food and kept him safe from other animals and hunger until my kids rescued him.
Luck could escape almost any cage, but never minded being caught. He’d climb into our 17-year-old son’s top bunk at night and awaken him. Once my husband reached for his briefcase on the way to work and found Luck sitting on top, staring at him. On other occasions Luck was found behind the refrigerator, under the couch, or sitting next to the piano.
He enjoyed his freedom and liked to roam.
My kids carried Luck on their shoulders. He’d scurry down and up one arm and then across to the other. Occasionally a friend would be afraid of mice, but most found him as adorable and entertaining as we did.
Luck started scratching his fur and ears; apparently this is a bad habit that some mice develop. It was precious how the kids fussed over him and doctored him with antibacterial ointment.
Never was a tiny mouse more loved than Luck has been by my children these past 10 months. My husband stands with them now in the dark of our backyard as they bury his body in a little white box. We knew this day would come, but it hurts to see the kids so sad.
That abandoned little mouse truly found a home here.