Mini Mouse

You know you're in trouble when your thirteen year old daughter walks into the house with a weird look on her face, is holding something in her fist against her tummy, and says to you, "Mom, Dad...don't be mad."

In point-five seconds, your brain plays a rapid-fire slideshow of a million different reasons you might be mad. And I usually come up with a few pretty good ones. This time, though, they were all wrong.

While at church for a youth group meeting, my daughter found a baby mouse inside a little-used piece of furniture that was being stored. Yep, she brought it home. And it's teeny. Itty bitty teeny. So small it looks like a fleshy kidney bean. (Note: this picture is not the actual mouse. Ours is a bit darker.)

So we did a little research to see how to keep it alive and she ended up staying up all night taking care of it. A mouse. All night. Good to know she has strong maternal instincts, I guess. I would like well-cared for grandkids some day, after all.

The name is still up for grabs.

UPDATE:

Mouse and mousey mommy are both doing fine. The name: "Moose A. Moose". Did I mention my daughter is on the creative side?

The little guy is in a little carrying case on my desk. Right now. It's not-quite-national take your daughter and her pet rodent to work day.