Reflections on a Rodent

In which I encounter a mouse

One January night, in my old apartment in Brooklyn, a mouse began venturing into my room. The main point of entry was the hole where the radiator pipe poked into the hardwood floor. I frequently heard mice scurrying in the walls and scratching at the pipe, but on this night, as I tried to sleep, the scratching suddenly turned into tiny little tip-taps, and I realized it was walking across the floor of my room. I immediately sat up and turned on the light and saw it for half a second before it disappeared back down the hole. It was remarkable how quickly it ran off, almost like it had bounced off an invisible barrier back into the hole.

I spent a good portion of the night literally playing cat and mouse with it. Every time I turned out the light, I would hear it sneak back into the room, but it would dart away the instant I turned on the light. Eventually, I got so tired, I gave up, but I kept imagining the mouse creeping back into my room and climbing into my bed or burrowing itself in the pile of half-clean clothes that lived in front of my dresser.

When I woke up and confirmed that no mice-related damage had been done to me or my belongings, I started thinking about him in a different light. I remembered reading somewhere that mice have a really strong sense of direction, and I began to think of his precise escapes with a bit of admiration. I recalled the statue of the mouse wearing a lab coat in Siberia dedicated to the mice who are tested on in laboratories and have led to many scientific and medical breakthroughs. Mostly, I remembered the mice of books–Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, A Cricket in Times Square, The Tale of Despereaux–and, despite the disruption caused by my mouse, I think I came to respect it more. I heard him a couple more times after that night, but never in my room, and I didn’t see him again.

Why is it that an animal that is in real life considered a pest or vermin is so often the hero of literature (children’s literature)? Why do writers of anthropomorphic stories sympathize with the mouse, and why do we respond to this? The books I listed above are all critically acclaimed, in fact, all three have been recognized by reviewers for the Newbery Medal, and Mrs. Frisby and Despereaux both won in their respective years.

Rats get a mixed bag reputation-wise. Sometimes they’re good guys like the rats of NIMH, and even in Despereaux where they are essentially the villains, they have the capacity for redemption. Templeton in Charlotte’s Web is unpleasant and largely self-centered, but he contributes to the efforts to distinguish Wilbur and save him from being eaten. Remi, of course, in the movie Ratatouille is able to fulfill his dream of becoming a chef, but not until the restaurant he makes his start at, Gusteau’s, is closed by the health department. Rats can’t shake their association with uncleanliness and scavenging. Weeks after my mouse encounter, I saw a rat in my apartment (in my kitchen nonetheless), and I still continue to be horrified in a way that I don’t reflect on the mouse. In terms of other pests, I have yet to come across a resonant pigeon narrative or a cockroach tale. Frankly, I’m not sure I would want to read or write the latter, in particular. Although, I suppose the cockroach in WALL-E does elicit some “aww” moments.

But mice are the good guys, the littlest creature with the biggest heart. They demonstrate that strength can come from anywhere. They face a big, scary world full of obstacles with gumption and kindness. Maybe that’s why they speak to children. They are examples. Though they be but little, they are fierce.

I think I wanted to transpose this narrative onto my little intruder, to imbue him with a noble purpose for his disruption of my night, when in fact, his main driver was probably “I smell food” or “I feel warmth.” Even this maintains a kind of dignity though, a maturity and independence to see to his needs and the courage to venture into an unknown space to attain it. I couldn’t help but somewhat respect him.

I say all this, but yes, I did call an exterminator to look into the issue the next day, because it was Brooklyn, and I wasn’t about to compromise my health and comfort for the sake of a literary animal trope. Still, the traps the exterminator set up never caught anything, and I was relieved, both for my sake in not having to deal with a dead animal, and for the mouse’s. I wished him luck in his future endeavors, hoping they were far from my room.

Note: I did not mention Stuart Little on purpose, because I don’t like him.