Last night I stood near the crack under the sink and called for Peanut. He came! It took him no time at all but in my incapacity to tell them apart I mistook him for Little Girl. It was only when I went down to feed the mouse that I realized it was Peanut. I love how he sits in my hand.
Wild mice look bigger than they feel. It’s said a full grown wild mouse can fit through a hole the size of a pencil. I doubted that until I got to stroke Peanut and feel just how thin he was. The babies seem to have more meat on their bones than the mature ones. It must be their fur. What’s special about being able to touch them is the life you can feel in them. Since they’re so thin you can feel all their bones and their heartbeat and all their little muscles pulling and moving. They are all muscle. The way they dart around I’m surprised they have any meat on them at all.
When I’ve been able to feel Little Girls hands on my fingertips I sometimes feel her strength when she pushes off to run away. They are extremely strong, especially in their back legs. They can hop so high.
I always miss Peanut. He doesn’t come every day. I should call him every night. I love to hold him in my hand.