Notes upon the death of a rodent

The hole in the bag of muesli spilled a small pile of grain to the floor. A small collection of random fluff and objects is found gathered into a nest behind the sofa. Our worst fears are realised. Mickey's come to town.

After much searching, the mousetrap is finally found and set (with chocolate as the bait). We bed down for the night to wait what the morning will bring. It brings a tiny corpse, a problem solved, but also some conflicting emotions.

I know they are filthy and unhygenic. But as I stare at Jerry in the trap, I am overwhelmed by just how beautiful he looks. No other word to describe. Even in his squashed and lifeless state, the eyes shine, the feet are tiny works of perfection, the glossy nose and the feathery whiskers are a miracle of design and construction. I mourn for this glorious piece of God's handiwork that I had squished the life out of, for the sake of homeland security.

"Don't show it to me" says the beloved. "it was only trying to get along and to live". (She was the one who'd ordered the execution, but it wasn't the moment to mention that.) Daughters variously fascinated, appalled, bemused.

As the dog sniffs interestedly, and not-so-speedy Gonzales is placed in a crumpled Sainsbury's bag and committed to the deep of the dustbin, I wonder at the value of my own life and its passing.

“All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall...” says Peter.

I am nothing, small as a mouse when compared to the span of history and the breadth of the cosmos: and yet, and yet:

... but the word of the Lord endures forever.” And this is the word that was preached to you.

Through the Gospel message I can endure forever. Humbled. Inspired.