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2002-11-21 - 3:22 p.m.

A creature was stirring...

Part I:

That little thing moving across my computer screen at work in not always the cursor. Sometimes it moves all on its own, on six little black wiggly legs, and stops to waive its little antennae at me. I'm so used to the presence of these little guys that I think nothing of picking them up and removing them to the floor when they are occupying something I need to use. Otherwise we peacefully coexist. Sometimes I even play with them, nudging them gently with my pen as they climb among the papers on my desk. In my idle moments I have done a whole analysis of their social system, watching them meet and greet each other. Until someone comes in my office and screams, "There's a BUG!" And then I am reminded that most people do not casually share their office space with lots of little red bugs.

To their credit, the university facilities management has attempted to eradicate the bugs. But they will never succeed because the bugs are not coming from inside the building. They are box elder bugs and there is a big box elder tree right outside the window. Right by the air intake vent. You guessed it. The bugs are being sucked into the air vent and distributed around the office by means of the ventilation system. And since I sit directly beneath a vent, they drop around me, one by one, and begin exploring their new environment.

They are kind of cute. Round, ruby red bodies with coal black wings and legs. I feel completely different about them than I do about cockroaches (eeuw!) or spiders or things that sting and bite. They are harmless little creatures that got sucked into a strange world, where they crawl around trying to find something to eat and some other being to relate to, before they die. Not unlike the human condition.

Part II:

One day last week I was home for lunch, and Skootie had the day off. She was upstairs at the computer searching for a thesis statement for her paper while I fixed our sandwiches. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the dog was staring pointedly at something on the floor (instead of at me as he usually does whenever lunchmeat is involved). For a minute, I thought it was a turd....but then I saw a tail and little round ears. It was a mouse. Of course the mighty yapper just stood there dumbfounded, and so I did the only thing I could think of at the moment: I stepped on the mouse's tail. By this time it is occurring to me that the creature is not exactly in good health, or it would have scurried off at the first sign of a dog, much less a great big shoe. But it is lively enough to put up a fight once it finds itself immobilized. So I am standing there with a struggling mouse under my shoe, fending off the dog (now quite excited) and looking around for something in which to capture the mouse. But all I can reach are the dishes, and I'm not about to try and capture it in a coffee cup. So I have to yell for help, except that Skootie is desperately afraid of mice and I didn't want her to be startled and have to scream.

I called out, "Skootie, come down here!"

She came down pretty fast. Something in my voice must have alerted her that I wasn't calling her to lunch.

"Stop right there!" I said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Don't look in here...."

"It's a MOUSE! Is it a MOUSE?" she gasped, before I could spare her the details. She thinks everything suspicious is a mouse.

This time I had to say "Yes, it is. But I have it trapped. Can you get me something to catch it in?"

To her great credit, she did not scream, but instead bounded up the steps and came back with a plastic container. I clapped it over the struggling mouse and she handed me a paper plate to cover the top.

"Are you SURE that's not a RAT?" she asked, keeping a nervous distance from the tiny captive.

"No, it is just a mouse. Look at how little it is."

"Rats can be little."

"No. It is just a little mouse. Believe me. I know."

"I can't believe I am actually standing here, looking at a mouse." she says.

It looked pretty harmless, in its clear plastic prison. But the question became: What now? The mouse needed to be disposed of, but I couldn't bring myself to actually kill it. I have set traps for the mice, I have been responsible for their demise. But I don't think I could just squish the life out of its little furry body. However, since it was none too well to begin with, I decided it would spend its last hours in the trash bag outside on the curb. I transported mouse, container and all, out the door. If it recovered sufficiently to fight its way out of the trash bag and escape, then I guess it deserved to live.

I know.... you can't live with mice. You can't let them take up residence. Last year I unthinkingly left a bag of birdseed in the basement, and the mice found it and had quite a party. When I broke that up, they chewed all the labels off the paint cans. So we now have a dozen cans of "guess what" in the workshop. The mice had to go. But I can't really dislike them... I guess I read too many Beatrix Potter stories when I was a kid. The only thing wrong with little creatures is that they invade our space. And I can't help feeling, sometimes, like we humans are the real invaders.

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