Mice have nine lives

Some of life’s strangest but most poignant moments descend on one suddenly, when one is least expecting them. They catch one by surprise and take one's breath away. So it was today. This happened at work. A couple of white mice had been procured for dissection two days back. One of them was pregnant. They were kept in a tiny cage in a storeroom. The dissection was scheduled for yesterday, but it was postponed for some reason. This morning, the pregnant female gave birth. She delivered six tiny babies.

We actually saw the mother mouse go through her delivery slowly through the day. In the morning, there was just one baby out, later by noon, there were two, by afternoon, there were six. I didn’t check before I left, I assumed that mama was done for the season. We marveled, how could six tiny lives actually exist within that one little white mouse? We wondered, when and how would those little yucky pink babies grow into handsome white mice?

Pink, skinny, slimy, hairless, and fragile babies. Their button eyes closed, they lay in a heap against their mother’s body, occasionally sliding and slithering over one another to get closer to her or reach for her teats. [The male looked the other way all the while, unblinkingly indifferent to the great and moving sight of a mother struggling to bring forth life. But what does one expect of males anyway?]

They did not know, the mother or her babies, that they had missed death [at least temporarily] by a mouse’s whiskers. The dissection may well have happened on schedule. Or the mice might have been bought by someone else and they might have been cut up even earlier. As I looked at the tiny, ugly little creatures that didn’t look one bit like mice, I couldn’t help asking myself, what this was if not destiny? It seemed to me that the little fellows were meant to breathe and live and feel like us, at least for some time. And so they were here. Life has a strong urge to be expressed, to be manifest. It will not be easily thwarted.

And what was it that drew us to the drama? The mice had been in office for two days, and except for those directly involved, none of the rest of us had felt the urge to drop by and visit them. But today, in ones and twos and threes, women and men popped in and out of the storeroom. Some ran around organizing food for the little survivors. A group even celebrated the births with chocolates. Even men were drawn. Young men.

What is it that draws us to life and brings a smile on our faces when we see life triumph over difficult circumstances? What is the kinship and connectedness that draws us to another creature at such times? What part of ourselves do we see reflected in another creature that makes us empathize with it, participate in its life, and feel the need to respect its strong self-expression, protect it and celebrate its existence?