Last night as the Crankee Yankee and I were watching the season finale of “The Blacklist”, both Pookie and Plumpy-Nut, our two male cats, started behaving oddly. Well, not so much odd as cats-in-the-wild odd. Which is strange because Pookie has always been an indoor cat, and Plumpy much prefers indoors to outdoors.
Both of them had their heads together under the TV trolley, and appeared to be tracking something. We thought it was one of their several dozen toys, but no–it was a tiny gray field mouse who evidently took a wrong turn out of a knothole in the baseboard (it’s an old house).
No one looked more scared than that little mouse; if a mouse could have a furrowed brow, he did. You could tell that he knew he was in the wrong place at the wrong time; not to mention that two very interested cats were watching him. (Nala, our one female cat, stayed in the office, completely grossed-out that an actual mouse was inside her home.)
The poor little thing, no bigger than a 3 oz. Dixie cup, scurried frantically over the floor boards, looking desperately for a way out of this madhouse where giant cats looked upon him as a tasty appetizer. The Crankee Yankee flushed him my way, and, as I was standing beside the front porch door, I opened it and our little visitor scurried out. I swear he shot me a grateful look before he disappeared off the steps.
It made me think of how often we humans are like frightened mice. We get into a strange place or situation, and we assume the worst; someone is out to get us, we are not supposed to be here, we are in the wrong place, and so on.
But no, unlike our tiny guest, we are here for a reason and a purpose. I like to think of our time on Earth as our “mission time;” we are here to help, to finish unfinished business, to love, to comfort–to be the hero we secretly imagined we always were.
Even if we feel that we are only a tiny mouse, looking for the way home.