Little Life

I could tell instantly something was wrong with the mouse.
She wasn't moving, she wasn't scampering, and she wasn't trying to get away. It made me stare for a moment.
He asked me to pet her. She didn't move, or even twitch. I was scared at this point, even though finally touching one of the mice gently and lovingly seemed like a prize. He nudged it. That's when she started to move. But she couldn't. The poor mouse couldn't even pick up her body, and was trying to scurry away with just her legs. Something about that made me want to cry. It was just so...sad.
I have said it before, but I don't like when it's so clear and obvious someone needs something, or wants something, but can't get it for themselves. It breaks my heart every time. This mouse couldn't move. He placed her carefully by the food, to pick her up last, since we knew she wouldn't move from that spot.
I finally put her in a cage. Through my glove I could feel the little body cold. It was still a living and breathing body, but at a much lower temperature. That couldn't be good. I just wanted to hold her in my hand, close to my heart until she warmed up again. Before I had even noticed it, I had done that instinctively.
But it was very clear she was dying.
A small, needly pain attacked my heart when he told me to put her in the cage. We were going to sack her. I knew she was in pain, but putting her in the cage seemed cruel. With no bedding and no other mice, she lay there pathetically. No doubt hyperventillating and shivering.
When he asked me what I wanted to do, I knew we had to put her down right away. I couldn't stand to see her in the cage alive and suffering much longer.
And so we did.
I picked up her body, limp with lifelessness. No pain or desperate cold existed in this body anymore. The dead body was easier to handle than the dying one.
As we walked upstairs to put her in the freezer, he turned and said to me:
"She's in a mountain of swiss cheese."
I smiled a little bit. This comforted me. She was certainly in mousy heaven.