I Too Am Slain — An Update

Well, the little bastard didn't make it.

I checked on him this morning, about twelve hours after leaving him in the shed. He was still lying on his side, right where I'd left him. When I gently nudged him with a leaf, he lifted his head to look at me.

Fuck.

It had been cold overnight. Maybe he was hypothermic. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe he wasn't fatally injured after all.

I couldn't leave him there, so I brought him into my warm office, away from the pets. I put him on paper towels in a small cardboard box, then set that inside a clear Sterilite bin.

I wasn't trying to open a mouse hospital. I just wanted to give him a chance.

And for a little while, it looked like he might have one. He started moving, trying to sit up. Later, he disappeared underneath the paper towels. I thought maybe the warmth was helping.

A few hours later, he was dead.

My first thought wasn't just sadness. It was: What if I killed him?

I'd forgotten to put ventilation holes in the outer bin. The lid wasn't airtight—it was warped and wouldn't latch on one side—and I'd opened it a few times. But what if that wasn't enough? What if he survived my pets and a cold night outside, only to suffocate in the container I'd put him in to save him?

Fucking fuck.

I started looking into how much air a mouse needs. From what I could find, suffocation seemed unlikely. He'd also spent twelve hours barely able to lift his head. There were plenty of reasons to think he was seriously injured.

But then I noticed the droppings in the cardboard box. And I realized he'd managed to climb out of it into the larger container.

He'd climbed.

Was he recovering? Would he have made it if I'd done something differently?

I don't know. And I never will.

That's what hurts. I was trying so hard not to repeat what happened with a bat I once killed because I thought it was beyond saving. I still don't know whether that bat was actually injured.

I keep coming back to something I said last night:

You go out of your way to save a life because maybe someday someone will go out of their way to save yours.

Not because the universe owes you a favor. But because that's the kind of energy I want to put into the world—even if it's only in my own house, and even if nobody else would give a shit about a mouse.

I wasn't afraid to kill him if he was beyond saving. I was afraid to kill him unnecessarily.

And now I'm stuck with the possibility that I made a mistake anyway.

Maybe Koa injured him too badly to survive. Maybe he was recovering, and I did something wrong. I can't prove either one.

All I know is that I tried. And trying doesn't guarantee a good outcome.

I still believe he deserved a chance.

I just wish I knew whether I helped him.

And I really wish the little bastard had made it.