Tale of the Mama Mouse

"Mice don't move their young." my husband pronounced with a certainty that he assumed would not be challenged.

We were sitting on the newly finished enclosed screen porch on a late summer evening. The last of the sun had just gone down and the crickets were beginning their songs. Sarah Jane, the calico cat was grooming herself in the shadows, Sugar Bear and Willie were curled up together asleep on the old braided rug we'd found at a garage sale, and the dogs were playing near the edge of the woods outside. The night before, we had discovered a nest in the eaves and there had been four baby mice nestled inside. Now there were only two. "Then where did they go?" I asked reasonably and he shrugged. Magic, my best loved and feisty black cat, appeared around the corner and jumped lightly into my lap with a soft meow. "Maybe," my husband suggested, "One of the cats....well, you know." I scratched Magic's ears and he began to purr so loudly it vibrated. "Don't even think such a thing!" I told my husband. He shrugged again.

We continued to sit and enjoy the peace and quiet and the warm summer air. A slight breeze made the pine tree branches sway and I think we may both have been very nearly asleep when we heard the scratching. Magic lifted his head, Sarah turned toward the sound, and Willie and Sugar Bear both woke up and focused on the eaves where a small mama mouse had appeared. She was calmly watching us, apparently not at all bothered by the four cats intently watching back. She made her way to the nest, tiny little nails scratching the fresh wood, and picked up one of her babies by it's little neck, then surefootedly made her way back to the far corner, slipped under the mesh and out of sight. She was back in a very few minutes and repeated the process. Without even looking at him, I could feel my husband's glare and concentrated all my energy into not laughing out loud. "Must be a trained mouse, " I finally managed to say neutrally, "Maybe an ex-circus mouse." I could sense the glare lessening until it was replaced by a rueful half-smile. "Right, " he said seriously, "Cause any fool knows that regular mice don't move their young." A wolf howled from somewhere on the other side of the mountain and the cats went to rigid attention while the dogs stopped in their tracks, sniffing the air and listening. We called them inside and they came a little slowly, reluctant to leave the sights and smells of the outside world behind. You just never know what the next hour might bring.