{"id":9185,"date":"2025-05-24T00:01:00","date_gmt":"2025-05-24T00:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/?p=9185"},"modified":"2025-05-22T22:54:25","modified_gmt":"2025-05-22T22:54:25","slug":"two-mice","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/two-mice\/","title":{"rendered":"Two Mice"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Since I’m mostly doing something else this week, I’ll talk about two mice. I didn’t see either, but I did hear one; and that’s the one I’ll start with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>The Resident Mouse and Me: Another San Francisco Memory<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

\"Google<\/a>I was working at Pellegrini Refrigeration’s office\/warehouse for most of the time I lived in San Francisco. The office section was big enough for \u2014 a dozen or more folks, I suppose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The break corner, between the front office where I worked and the main room, was just an L-shaped bench, wrapped around a small table: very basic. It wouldn’t have held more than maybe four or five people comfortably.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had the place to myself, except when a technician or salesman came through. Which suited me fine, although that’s why my employer hadn’t found anyone who’d work there more than a week or so before quitting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyway, that break corner was good enough for me as another place to sit while eating lunch. More than good enough. I had room for whatever I was eating, a cup of coffee, and whatever I was reading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>Just Another Quiet Day, Until \u2014<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

I’d been eating and reading, sitting on the bench with my back against the wall shared by the offices and the warehouse. The place had its usual tranquil ambience. Then I shifted my right foot. Just a little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s when I heard, down by my right foot, a high-pitched but sincere scream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a squeak. A scream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Followed by the sound of frantic skittering: first toward the wall I’d been sitting against, then along the wall toward the back of the office\/warehouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the skittering faded into the distance, it fell into a rhythm: ‘skitter-skitter-skitter-THUMP-skitter-skitter-skitter-THUMP….’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wall was finished on my side, but had open wooden studs on the other. The mouse apparently had access to the offices under the bench, but preferred the less-occupied warehouse side for retreat. And was running along the wall, hitting each stud on the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And at mouse-scale, my shoe would have been the size of a truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the mouse’s viewpoint, it probably seemed a stable part of the environment, like the table legs. Until it moved!!!!<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Judging by the sound, I’m guessing the mouse was right next to my shoe when I shifted my foot. Can’t say I blame the little critter for screaming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>Encounter in the Library<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"MSUM<\/a>
Livingston Lord Library, MSU: the card catalog as it was when the place was new.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The other ‘mouse story’ is from my father’s experience. Back then, the MSU library had a card catalog: dozens and dozens of drawers packed with three-by-five inch cards that helped folks find books.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Actually, it was the data on the cards, and how it was sorted: and that’s another topic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The point is that there had to be a lot of room for people in front of those banks of drawers. And even then it could get crowded, if lots of us were making similar searches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After hours, on the other hand, there’s nothing quite so empty as a library. Particularly after the lights are out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That brings me to my father’s mouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He’d come \u2014 my father, that is, not the mouse \u2014 to the library in off-hours, I don’t remember why, with some other folks. It was after sunset, so they’d been turning on lights as they entered different areas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they got to the card catalog area, they noticed that they weren’t alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For humans, when there isn’t a crowd, the card catalog had abundant elbow room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a mouse, it would have been an immense void. With a linoleum floor, that gives pretty good traction for our shoes: and almost none to a mouse’s tiny claws.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, there was a mouse on the floor. Yards away from a wall or any other shelter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>“More Haste, Less Speed”1<\/a><\/sup><\/h4>\n\n\n\n

The mouse was running with the energy of an Olympic sprinter, moving with the speed of a lethargic turtle. If it had slowed down and started walking, it would have made faster progress. But it would have taken great presence of mind to realize that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the lights going on hadn’t started the mouse running, the humans’ arrival did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s where my memory of Dad’s account ends, and so does this week’s post.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Except for the usual links to more stuff:<\/p>\n\n\n\n