You know how you wake up some mornings and your mood is good and smooth, and in the quiet time before you have to get moving everything else goes easy and smoothly, and it's the beginning of a smooth, happy day?

And then there's the flip side, where you wake up feeling like something is going to happen that day, and it doesn't feel like it's going to be that great a thing, and then a series of small but really annoying events begin to happen, like you miss the garbage can somehow and dump the wet coffee grinds on the floor by mistake, and each step that is so easy on a good morning becomes a trial on an iffy one? 

Well, that was the other morning, and I knew it was happening the minute it started and I'm thinking, Oh boy, now what's today going to bring?

Luckily, it brought nothing dire but it was a great wake-up call to remember to appreciate the good days. Plus, since I was expecting something out of the ordinary, I wasn't surprised when it happened. That's not a bad side effect.

So, yesterday one of the cats caught a baby field mouse. I chased him around till I could get the mouse away from him, and there were small blood spots on the paper towel so it was wounded. I hate things like this. The mouse was reeling and at first I took it outside because I didn't know what to do, and was going to let it go in the garden. But it was chilly outside and it was just a baby, and shivering from the assault and who knows what else, and right after I let him go and he didn't run, I said there's no way I can do this, and picked him right back up again. He looked awful, so then I'm torn between hoping this poor baby just quietly passes so his misery ends, and trying to make him feel safe and warm and not scared, and maybe he'll recover. (We explore this same terrible dilemma in HOW IT ENDS, only to a different degree. A much scarier degree.)

Anyhow,  I found a nice container with a lid with air holes, and put in a paper towel and made a big yarn bed, and put in a capful of water and some soybeans and nuts and cheese and a piece of oatmeal cookie, and set it in a place where the cats couldn't get him. Went back and peeked every so often and found him drinking water, licking the cheese, nibbling on the walnut. He still didn't look so great but he was lurching around and yes, drinking. I figured maybe that was a good and hopeful thing.

This morning found him snuggled in his yarn bed and when I lefted the lid to refill his water cap, he looked up and darted (yes, darted!) out of the yarn bed and sat and waited to see what I would do. He doesn't look marvelous but he looks better than he did last night, so I just gave him more food and closed the lid and put him back in a nice, warm spot.

Will it be enough? I don't know. I hope so. The odds of getting him more help than this are very, very slim. Field mice don't seem to be an animal most people try to heal. But he's just a little thing, soft, furry, sweet. He hasn't bitten me although he's had plenty of chances, and I think that counts for something. And he's so small. He hasn't had much time yet on this earth, and I'd like to see him get well enough to give it another go-round. Life is important, especially to those threatened with the loss of it.

So I'm sending all good thoughts toward this little one and hoping maybe, just maybe, he'll make it.