A rustling was heard in a corner, blending
in with the wind outside the house.
It stops. And starts. And stops. And starts.
A brown ball of fur darts from the corner to the next.
I stand, my heart racing, looking for the traps
but none are within reach, so I improvise.
A box. And something to close him in
he’s hiding behind the book shelve in my room.
I scurry to the shelve and place my trap of sorts
but before I’ve closed the gap he darts.
Small paws skitter across the top of my foot as he runs
Scared into another corner, to safety.
A nose peeps back out from that corner, then eyes,
and whiskers too. Its nose twitches slightly, and it reverts
back into its hiding spot. And I look at it.
And it is living, just like me, trying to survive.
Who am I, to try and cut his time short? I am not God, and he is just
a mouse trying to survive. I crawl into bed, and shut the lights out.
