This story was originally posted in Fall, 2013 on my former blog called, Sundays with Dad. It had nothing to do with my dad. I was beginning to branch out a little. Here’s to you, Amy who gave Tappy her name…

“We have a problem,” I hear Todd say from the kitchen as I walk in the front door of our house. It’s an early fall, Saturday afternoon and I’ve just returned from a walk in the ravines with our dog, Sam.

“What now?”  I ask not wanting to know, as I unsnap Sam’s leash.

“Rose (our cat) caught a baby mouse and it’s laying on the patio, kind of fidgeting.” He says. “It looks shocked but it’s still alive.”

“Well, go kill it.” I tell him.

“You kill it!”

Todd heads back outside to work in the yard. I Google How to feed a baby mouse where I am introduced to Stuart on YouTube, and his friend Matilda. He is a big white mouse with pink eyes, and Matilda is grey and smaller than the size of the quarter that has been placed beside her, for effect. She’s nuzzling up to Stuart and he’s being very patient. This reminds me of Sam and Rose. My heart melts.

“Wait!” I yell out to Todd. “Come here! Look at this! They’re feeding this little speck of a mouse some kitten formula with a tiny brush and she’s lapping it up.”

“I don’t want to see it.”

“Seriously, come and look. They’ve put the little guy in a shoebox and punched holes in the lid so it can breathe.”

“We don’t have a shoebox,” I hear him grumble under his breath.

“Yes, we do. I’ll go get it. You get the mouse.”

I go for the shoebox, and also grab a roll of unscented toilet paper, like the video recommended, and start tearing tissue. Todd returns with the mouse.

“Is it bleeding?” I don’t really want to know.

“No.”

“Put it in the box. I’m going to the store for kitten formula.”  I start to panic. Where do I get kitten formula? CVS. Hurry!  I say to myself. “We have to save the mouse!” I say out loud.

I return with a bottle of baby formula and a little syringe. We give it a go, but can’t get the mouse to take the syringe, so I run back upstairs in search of an eyeliner brush.

“We should name her,”  I stop at the top of the stairs.

Todd suggests Willie, but that reminds me of my dad whose name is William. I don’t want to name the mouse after my dad.

“How about Tappy?”  Tappy reminds me of Danceworks, the place where I work with Amy the Tap dancer. We need a Danceworks mouse. I get excited thinking about having a pet mouse at work and am certain everyone will take to her like I have—except Elyse. She’s allergic.

“Sure,” Todd says about the name.

Tappy eats from the brush out of Todd’s hand just like on YouTube. I can’t believe my heart is bursting over a mouse.

We put her in the bathroom for the night with the lid of the box held open by a chopstick—-so he doesn’t get claustrophobic?—and shut the door to keep Rose out.

We both dream of mice.

I wake up the next morning with a sore throat and fever. Todd informs me Tappy is gone. I think he’s teasing. How could she just disappear? There’s no way it could climb out of the box and get down from the sink. Then it occurs to me that Rose could have bounced the door open, snuck in and eaten her. Because that’s what cats do. I’m heartsick and I can see Todd is not taking it well either.

Todd leaves for work, leaving me alone in bed with orange juice, the mouse killer Rose, and Sam. Rose is being incredibly affectionate, cuddling up and massaging my arm. I try to ignore the fact that she’s digesting a mouse and fall asleep.

I wake up just in time to see her dashing towards the big red chair next to our bedroom window. Bolting up, I see her take a bat at Tappy. Then, she tucks her paws neatly beneath her, sits and glares at the mouse, because that’s what cats do. I discreetly reach out and grab Rose as Tappy lies on her back with her tiny feet in the air.

After grabbing Tappy’s box and locking Rose in the bathroom, I return to find Tappy back right-side up. Carefully picking her up with a piece of toilet paper, I put her back in her box and take her outside, thinking she might do well with a little fresh air.

The sun is bright and I sit down beside her. She plays dead for about two minutes as I sing to her. Suddenly, she scratches her ear, opens her eyes and stares up at me. “Tappy!” I say. I’m overjoyed.

I call Todd to see if he thinks I should let her go and he says Tappy probably won’t make it on her own yet, so I head back inside with the mouse in the box.

That evening, Todd brings home some of his leftover rice from carry out at the Pakistani restaurant near his office. For Tappy. He holds the tiny creature in his hand and feeds her more formula. “She was doing much better last night,” he says.

“Maybe she doesn’t like spicy.” I say. “I’m sure she’s going to be okay.” After all, Tappy scaled a wall, survived a great fall, and escaped Rose. Twice! She’s already on her third life. She’s a remarkable mouse.

I share the mouse video I made on my phone with the ladies at work the next day and make plans to buy Tappy a cage and a wheel.

After work the day following, I call Todd on my way home and before I can tell him I’m on my way to Pet Smart he says, “Tappy passed.”

I immediately burst into tears, and am shocked at the level of my emotion over a mouse. I call my co-worker, Amy the dancer, who inspired Tappy’s name. There’s something so happy about people who tap. I thought a happy name and an organizational affiliation could save a mouse.

Amy listens to my Tappy story while I cry and makes me feel better.

Amy entering a staff meeting

At work the next morning, the ladies ask about Tappy and we’re all a little sad together.

Todd helps me bury Tappy under our Bleeding Heart bush in the backyard. I wrap the little mouse in a tissue and lay her inside a bloom from our Peace Plant. It seems appropriate.

Todd digs a hole and I place Tappy inside. When I start to sing, “Kumbaya My Lord”, we both crack up.

Rest in peace Tappy.

🌻. 🙏. 💕. 💛.