Rick and I started reading to our children when they were in utero. We would sit on the couch, me rubbing my growing belly, while Rick read stories. We called each child “Little R”. No gender reveal for us. We wanted the surprise at the end of nine months. Reading remained a special time with our children as they grew, and our collection of books grew right along with them. Sadly, I gave all those books away after the grandchildren outgrew them, and then started buying some of them again when our great-granddaughter was born.
But I digress, as I often do. Our children had favorite stories they wanted read over and over and over again, and one was “A Mouse to be Free” by Joyce Warren, illustrated by Jerry Lane. A hungry little mouse is caught in the rain, reaches down from the curb to catch a piece of bread floating by and falls in. The poor little mouse is swept into a sewer drain, down a deep dark tunnel and on to the waterfall pouring into a river. Down, down, down the mouse goes to the fish and mud turtles, and then makes his way back to the surface where he manages to climb in a matchbox. On and on he floats and then awakens on a shore, a cat staring in, and then a little girl who carries him home and puts him in an empty bird cage. He is well fed, cozy and warm through winter. He and the cat become sort-of friends. Then spring comes and the cat is outside playing while the little mouse holds the bars of his cage, staring out, longing to be free. The little girl sees how sad he is and (bless her heart) takes the cage out to the woods and lets him go. He knows there will be danger, hunger and cold. But you see, a mouse can’t be happy unless he is free.
Stories have power. Little did I know the impact Ms. Warren’s story had on my children.
Whenever they got their allowance, they went to the pet store and bought a mouse or two. They brought them home in little travel boxes and let those rescued mice go in the greenhouse out back. Of course, they thought their little furry friends would be grateful and stick around. They would scurry back to the house (my children, not the mice) and then go out later to visit those adorable little creatures. And guess what? The mice were gone! Because, you see, a mouse can’t be happy unless he or she is free.
I pray the cat next door wasn’t feasting on them. I also pray those little mice didn’t multiply to the thousands and wreak havoc on the neighborhood. Mice, as cute as they are, can be destructive. Just ask a farmer. Or an urbanite with food in the pantry and valuables in the attic.
I’m very thankful God built a love for animals into my three children.
I’m also very glad Ms. Warren wrote about an adorable little mouse and not a rat.