Last month I wrote about our adorable pet mouse, Blue (you can see her photo here). It turns out that Blue was a major escape artist. She escaped once, somehow lifting her roof—of a brand new, awesome cage, no less—and going off to explore. Our nine-month-old cat, River, caught her, but luckily we were able to rescue her from him without any harm being done, which would have devastated my daughter, who played with Blue every day.
Then, tragedy struck again last week when Blue escaped once again, after we thought we had fixed her cage for good. She was a clever little mouse. We noticed her missing after we’d seen her just a couple of hours before playing in her wheel. She’d taken to burying in her shavings—I would too, after such a traumatic experience!—so we thought she was just doing that at first.
After peeking into her cage and poking around a bit, however, it was soon apparent that she was gone. We looked everywhere for her, hoping she’d just escaped and was hiding under a piece of furniture, or maybe playing along the walls somewhere.
This time, however, we were too late to save her, and only found her after River had taken her to the basement to kill her.
Poor Blue. My husband threw her outside without thinking (he claimed he was really sad, to which I replied, “Boy, I hope you don’t throw my body out in the woods when you’re so sad after my death!”), so we weren’t able to have a proper funeral, like I would have liked to have had for my daughter.