They thought it was funny, naming me Mouse, but I didn’t mind.  Trevor held me up, my oversized paws and ears dangling.  I tried to lick his face and he laughed.  He turned to the girl and said: Mouse…I’ll name the puppy Mouse.  The girl laughed and laughed then slid a piece of paper across the coffee table toward Trevor with a tidy white line on it.  Trevor put me down, patted my head, and turned away.

Trevor and I lived in a second-story room in Austin.  People came and went.  They sprawled on the couch and loud music played late into the night.  The girl came there often, stooping down to pet me, talking to me in a funny little voice, and picking up my front paws and dancing around with me.  I didn’t mind.

What I did mind was that on occasion I was hungry.  Then I paced and whimpered and nosed Trevor’s hand.  He’d say, I’m sorry girl, I’ll deal with it later, and stroke my head.  So I would flop down and sleep to pass the time.

One winter night Trevor and his friends went out, merry and loud.  Trevor left the window open to clear out the smoke.  Then there were colored explosions in the sky, sparkles raining down, and people in the streets dancing and laughing.  I licked my lips and panted and paced, but nothing helped.  Another thunderous clap came.  I leapt through open window and into the sky.  It was a long way down.  For a moment I was held aloft by the air then met the pavement, hard.

Sometime later I felt myself being lifted by someone whose scent I did not know.  I rested my head against his heartbeating chest.  I awoke again later to the chaos of light, unfamiliar smells, and someone gently moving me and binding my leg.

Trevor came for me.  I licked his hands in gratitude.  He took me home and helped care for me, along with some people I had not known.  These people came from time to time, delivering bags of dog food and talking gently to me, and taking me on car rides to the vet’s office. They always delivered me back to Trevor.

The girl was there sometimes, the one who spoke to me in a funny voice.  One day she and Trevor argued loudly.  It hurt my ears and I got as far away as I could.  Trevor left, slamming the door.  The girl walked back and forth quickly, gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag.  Then she looped my leash around my neck and we left.  We never came back.

—

FriendsofMrsP.org funded Mouse’s surgery and provided food and rides to the vet for follow-up care until Mouse disappeared with Trevor’s former girlfriend.  Trevor searched for Mouse but never found her.  FriendsofMrs.P.org is a non-profit organization with 100% of funds going directly to the animals’ care and rescue.

Four winters.  That’s how long I was here. I remember each icy blast, each deep snow, and the mice far beneath, tucked into burrows I could not hope to reach.  I slept beneath the bramble and awakened with snow perched on branch and fur.

On the days when the creek’s ice cracked along the edges and snow melted in rivulets toward the pond, I knew I would not go hungry.

Four summers.  That’s how long I was here.  Other cats came and went from this place, and I fought often and hard for hunting rights, for the right to walk this piece of borrowed earth for a time.

You saw me one summer’s day, skirting along the edge of the forest.  I saw in your eyes compassion and distress at my gristly body.  You turned and disappeared inside, then returned with two small, circular objects, one with silvery water, the other with luscious scents.  You placed them at the garden’s edge and spoke softly to me:  “This is for you.”  I blinked slowly at you, acknowledging.

The scent of food brought back fragments of memory:  an old woman, a petting hand, a warm house.

I ate and drank my fill, then slipped off into the forest.  You watched.

Four days.  That’s how long you fed me.  On the fifth day, you placed a steel box on the ground with food and water inside.  I walked around it, wary, sniffing.  It smelled of other animals, and I sensed that you meant to trap me.  What I did not know then was that you would have taken me in and cared for me.

You dreamed about me that night—do you remember?  You stood on the back porch as I walked away, leaning into the wind.  I turned back toward you, my face round and scarred, my eyes telling you wordlessly: I will not return.  Did you remember every detail of the dream as you awoke, as if it were real?

Four days.  That’s how long you continued to set the trap with food and water.  On the fifth day you peered for a long time at the place where you had seen me in the dream.  Then you put away the trap and scattered the food in the forest for other animals to find.