Why Am I Crying At A Mouse

If you’re a toughy, a hard nut, a strong independant woman, this is still the section for you. Have you been struggling with your hubby recently? Have you been screaming at your mother? Have you been depressed lately? Or even getting angry at things that wouldn’t normally annoy you in the slightest? Join the club matey. I think I’m to the point where I’m starting to feel sorry for everyone around me even more so than I do for myself. Impossible. Hopefully this story will help you feel a little more sane and not as pregg-ziller as you currently feel. At about 15 weeks I found myself becoming more caring and mother-like for my three younger sisters. It started with the “you never know what kind of people are out there” speech when they returned home with their skirts rolled to just above their knee... to the “don’t take drugs kids” and finally the “are you sexually active” talk. All of which should probably be addressed by my mother and not their big sister but whatever. I only started to realise one afternoon when my cat brought home a squeaky present that she dropped in front of me. The little thing was twitching and quite obviously terrified of the feline that wanted to impress me with its mouse murdering skills. This was usually something I laughed at. I know, I know, i’m cruel; it’s just my dark humour. To my surprise, I felt awful for the rodent. I scooped the fluff ball into my hands whiles devilishly staring at my cat in disappointment. It wasn’t in a good state, still alive but bleeding from the eyes and shaking like a leaf. I grabbed a shoe box and filled it with all the necessaries to keep a mouse alive. You know just the usual: 1 generous handful of cardboard shavings 1 small handful of crispy salad 4 diced slabs of cheese 1 small circular tupperware lid filled with water (for easy reach) 1 tissue -if he’s feeling a bit vulnerable I poked holes into the sides of the box and placed Jerry into his new recovery unit. I wasn’t allowed to keep Jerry in the house despite my argument that the cats are allowed and they’re the reason for this unfortunate event. I place the box on top of the cabinet in the garage and proceeded to check on him once an hour. My new found friend was doing well, recovering quite nicely I think. Must have been the cheese. Later that day, my three sisters returned home from school. The youngest is practically an animal whisperer, so I told her of my accomplishment in hope she would be utterly impressed. She was, extremely impressed that I cared so much. I told her where he was and she rushed to see him. She returned, not looking as happy as I thought she would be. “Yeah, erm… Jerry’s dead” My eyes filled with tears and my heart sunk. I rushed to the garage shouting “Jerry!” sobbing with each step. I opened the box and saw poor Jerry slumped in the generous handful of cardboard shavings. I cried myself to sleep that night. My mum heard and entered my room “What’s wrong darling” she said stroking my hair. “IF I CAN’T LOOK AFTER A FUCKING MOUSE HOW THE HELL AM I MEANT TO LOOK AFTER A CHILD?!” My mum started laughing in hysterics. I didn’t find it funny one bit. I screwed my face at her as she explained how it was half dead already and there was no saving little Jezza. So this has taught me nothing whatsoever despite the fact that pregnancy hormones can make you believe in pointless things with an extra batch of emotions. Brilliant. Rest in peace Jezz the mouse.

#emotional #mouse #rip #love #pregnancy