I hate mice. I hate the way they look I hate the way they act. I don’t want them in my house. If they appear in my house I’m going to call an exterminator. This used to be how I thought about mice, until I got a big change in perspective.
This is just the way it is. When they invade where I live they deserve to die. I don’t want them around. I can’t stand there little mouse droppings that are evidence of there being around. I don’t want to even think about them being alive period
That’s why it’s just her craziness that one I found a nest of baby mice in my lawn mower I felt compelled to protect them. When they were deprived of their mother and squealing at the top of their lungs out of fear I just wanted to protect them. When I left them in the lawnmower to cool off outside some of them had jumped off the mower and we’re sitting on the stone driveway. I went and got some cardboard scoop to them up and put them back into they’re little Nest on top of the lawnmower.
I then Returns the mower to the shed where their mother had decided to create a home for them. That’s my shed. The mice didn’t belong there. Yet still I had to return them. I also locked the shed door because I know that there is a cat next door. I know the cat enjoys hunting in my yard. I root for the cat to catch all the mice again in my yard. I just don’t want them to catch these babies.
This is illogical. I know these mice are going to grow up to be adults and come into my house and make me angry enough to call an exterminator to kill them. What is it about us that makes us want to protect the Young no matter who they are? I don’t know. I guess it’s just a matter of perspective.
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