Not Even a Mouse

One time when I was about eight years old, I was walking home from school and noticed something moving in the leaves on the ground near the base of a tree.

It was a mouse. Just a tiny, ordinary brownish-grey mouse, but it was lying on it’s side, so I could see the white fur of its underbelly, and its chest was heaving and it was taking quick gasps of air and shuddering… I had no idea whatsoever to do, but my heart was breaking and I felt panicked with helplessness as I looked at the little thing, twitching and trembling, and I remember being concerned that its family must be so worried, and I wondered if it had babies, and I hoped if it did they were already big enough to manage themselves and live on their own, poor mouse.

Minds often race during a crisis.

But being just a child, and having no sense of what would happen now, I saw an elderly woman who lived in my building walking up the driveway, and I thought, Oh good, an adult, and as she approached and peered over my shoulder where I was crouched and I pointed to the mouse and told her everything I was thinking, she just said, Oh, and she bent over and picked up a fallen maple leaf that was huge – much bigger than my face, as big as a sandwich plate – and she laid it over the shivering mouse, and stepped on it with her taupe leather orthopedic old-lady shoe, and ground her foot into the earth like she was crushing a cigarette.

When I tell you I was shocked…

I was struck dumb, completely and aptly horrified. My eyes were playing tricks, surely. I couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. That she could do such a thing. My mouth hung open but I said nothing. What could I possibly say after that? I’m certain she could see all the anguish in my little face, because when she straightened up again, she rubbed me on the back, in that place between the shoulder blades that a person can’t easily touch by themselves, and quietly said, It’s a kindness. We don’t want anyone to suffer. Not even a mouse.

I didn’t look at her as she turned and continued walking up the driveway. I just stood there, looking at the big yellow leaf on the ground with the now-dead mouse beneath it. I silently vowed to never smile at her again, or wave or anything, and I would ignore her if we met on the elevator sometimes, even if my mother thought I was being rude.

I never did run into her much after that anyway. But I still think of her from time to time. Especially at this time of year when huge golden leaves begin to drop from their progenitors, drying and drifting in the wind.

Sometimes it is cruel to be kind. Maybe the old woman was right, as horrible as it all was, but I still feel for that little mouse.

I still feel every feeling I’ve ever felt.