Eloise
A couple weeks ago, I fancied Pinkerton may have finished his fruitless annual hunt for a girl snake and be ready to eat again. I picked up a snake snack at the local pet shop. He looked at it disdainfully, then looked to me. There was a rodent in his house, and would I please have it removed? So the wee sleekit cow'rin' tim'rous beastie was removed to a small aquarium with clean bedding, fresh pellets, a water bottle and a running wheel. Whilst in waiting, the Unindicted Co-Conspirator happened to see her. She was cute. She was adorable. She suddenly had a name. A proper name for a city mouse.
Next thing I knew, we were at the pet store buying a proper mouse hotel - one of those brightly colored plastic thingies that you can extend via tubes - and a replacement snake snack. Eloise was moved into her new home and brought to the living room, until the sound of her incessant running on the wheel proved too similar to Chinese water torture.
She is cute, though, that's undeniable. Like many female mice I've briefly known, she vocalizes. She makes little clucking and chuckling sounds when exploring or rearranging her bedding. It's a contented little sound, like someone humming as they do the dishes. And she loves exploring the candy-colored plastic cage. She's got a little nest-ball that hangs from the top, and a wheel to run on, and a little dish of assorted rodent treats. We are nothing if not indulgent.
Last night, the Unidicted Co-Conspirator changed her bedding. Eloise was properly appreciative, clucking over each piece of fluff as she moved it into a complicated pattern whose meaning is known only to Mus musculus.
This morning, I headed into the kitchen to make coffee, and there was Eloise, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. I scooped her up - she has a remarkably placid disposition - and went to see how she'd escaped. The cage looked intact. Meanwhile, she'd discovered my shirt-cuff, and decided to launch an expedition up the vertiginous tunnel of my right sleeve. I tried to stop her, but she slipped 'round the back and ended up between my shoulder-blades, her little claws scratching right where that unreachable itch forms.
As much as I enjoyed the impromptu back scratch, I had to get the Unimpeachable One’s help to get Eloise off my back and back into a cage. She also found how the little escape artist had managed it, and that avenue of egress was blocked.
All of the critters are back home and happy. Pinkerton is still looking for girl snakes, and Eloise is running on her wheel and rearranging her bedding, chuckling to herself over her great adventure.
Next thing I knew, we were at the pet store buying a proper mouse hotel - one of those brightly colored plastic thingies that you can extend via tubes - and a replacement snake snack. Eloise was moved into her new home and brought to the living room, until the sound of her incessant running on the wheel proved too similar to Chinese water torture.
She is cute, though, that's undeniable. Like many female mice I've briefly known, she vocalizes. She makes little clucking and chuckling sounds when exploring or rearranging her bedding. It's a contented little sound, like someone humming as they do the dishes. And she loves exploring the candy-colored plastic cage. She's got a little nest-ball that hangs from the top, and a wheel to run on, and a little dish of assorted rodent treats. We are nothing if not indulgent.
Last night, the Unidicted Co-Conspirator changed her bedding. Eloise was properly appreciative, clucking over each piece of fluff as she moved it into a complicated pattern whose meaning is known only to Mus musculus.
This morning, I headed into the kitchen to make coffee, and there was Eloise, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. I scooped her up - she has a remarkably placid disposition - and went to see how she'd escaped. The cage looked intact. Meanwhile, she'd discovered my shirt-cuff, and decided to launch an expedition up the vertiginous tunnel of my right sleeve. I tried to stop her, but she slipped 'round the back and ended up between my shoulder-blades, her little claws scratching right where that unreachable itch forms.
As much as I enjoyed the impromptu back scratch, I had to get the Unimpeachable One’s help to get Eloise off my back and back into a cage. She also found how the little escape artist had managed it, and that avenue of egress was blocked.
All of the critters are back home and happy. Pinkerton is still looking for girl snakes, and Eloise is running on her wheel and rearranging her bedding, chuckling to herself over her great adventure.