Charlie

On Saturday, while I was unpacking the float and Sabina was merrily dancing around me, my husband came over with a little box.  Inside was a tiny baby mouse, still alive.  It's eyes were still closed and it had just enough hair to stop looking pink.  He'd found it in the old compost bin.  (As opposed to the "current" compost bin, which is where all our food scraps go.)

Sabina was fascinated.  I wondered whether the little fella could be hand fed.  So we went back to the house, got a pipette out and tried feeding him with cows milk.  Sure enough, the little fella was keen to drink, and while he probably bathed in most of it, I was pretty confident that he'd had a good drink.

Then we put him to bed in a box, with a hot water bottle.  He shivered for a couple of minutes, then settled down and went to sleep.  Sabina was ecstatic.

When Papa came in she ran over to him and said "Charlie has had a feed and now he's sleeping in his bed.  Do you want to see?"

Papa gazed at me with concern.  "You've named him?"

I gathered that the baby mouse was intended as an interesting farm exhibit, rather than a new pet.  Hmmm ...

As I had no idea how often and how much a little 5 day old mouse needs to be fed, I fed Charlie whenever I had some spare time.  But in the evening I warned Sabina "I am not getting up in the middle of the night to feed him.  He might not make it.  Ok?"  She nodded.  But Charlie made it.  He was a bit cold in the morning, but he made it.  And he had a good feed for breakfast.

For the next couple of blissful days we fed Charlie as often as we could, and he seemed to be thriving.  Sabina had a go at feeding him, and it was wonderful to see just how gentle, careful and patient she was with him.  We stroked him, and massaged him, just the way his mother would.  He grew stronger, and more vocal, and sometimes wriggled with great force in our palm.  He was happiest when held in a gently closed fist.  And he loved having his stomach massaged - he would lie still on his back, with his feet curled up.  Sometimes he had a mind of his own, and it was obvious that one day, Charlie was going to be fast.  Very fast.

We probably spent hours with Charlie.  But they were all blissful hours.  Hours that we looked forward to.  All other tasks got done in half the time, so that we'd have more time with Charlie.  Charlie became our family time, our time out, our escape from the real world.

Then it was time for me to go to work.  While I was very tempted to take Charlie with me into work, and I could even potentially justify that while feeding Charlie for the umpteenth time I was actually thinking up the latest and greatest architecture, it was going to break some serious security rules.  So, Charlie, together with Sabina (who happened to have the day off school), went to my Mum's.

Now my Mum has a huge affinity for all things living.  Everything thrives in her hands and under her care.  But somehow, Charlie didn't survive the day.  All I can say is that my Mum was more interested in the well being of her granddaughter than her granddaughter's baby mouse, and she didn't have enough energy for both.

The little guy got a proper burial in our backyard, and we decorated his resting place with petals.  This certainly gave Sabina a positive way to move forward, and soon she had wiped away the tears and was gratefully hugging her guinea pigs.  But I must admit, that the little guy has left a gaping hole in my day.  Lets just say that the massive enthusiasm to get up in the morning is gone.

I am grateful for the experience; Charlie will be missed.