September 17, 2013
Stepping out on the back porch this morning was a sobering (and shivering) experience. The thermometer read a brrrr-ing 39 degrees. Thought I'd check on the few houseplants left out there and make sure they are still okay, although what I thought I could do for them now after they shivered and shuddered all night in the cold, I don't know! Note to self: bring the rest of the plants in--today!

About to retreat to the warm kitchen, I thought I heard the faintest of pleas, in a frightened high-pitched voice. "Please help... I'm stuck..." I spun around, looking for the source, and failed. Sounded like it came from one of the huge spider plants hanging near the screened deck door, but I couldn't be sure. Dear me, am I beginning to imagine things? I smiled to myself, and headed for the warm kitchen.

"Pleeeeeeeze... somebody help me..." I was sure I heard it that time. And yes, most definitely from deep inside the spider plant. Gently probing through the leaves, I searched, and sure enough, there he was... tiny Bic, one of the mouseling triplets, his wee overalls thoroughly fastened on a long leaf-spike. He trembled, cold and frightened, his snapping black eyes teary and fearful..."please ma'am... please help me. I just want to go home."

"Hang on, little one..." I assured him, "I won't hurt you. Let's get your overall strap freed from that leaf. Hang on to my finger now... hang on tight." Four tiny ice-cold feet grasped my finger trustingly, and held on. I slid him easily back up the leaf and brought him to my shoulder. "Now you just sit right there while I get the screen door open, and I'll bring you home to your folks... I won't ask what you're doing here in my porch and what you were doing out all night. Your mama must be worried sick!"

He hung his head in shame, but as held out my hand again, he jumped into my palm, and I lifted him gently up to Fivelina's front door under the eave; he turned to thank me most politely. Fivelina was waiting, worry creasing her brow, and, rushing her errant son into the toasty MouseHouse kitchen, she too extended a relieved thank you in a tired whispery mouse-voice.

I smiled reassuringly, knowingly. We mothers have to stick together.