Mouse Overboard Marsha Porter   © Copyright 2025 by Marsha Porter

Photo by Ralph at Pixabay.

Back to business, I opened the bag of shock treatment. This super powder promised to destroy algae and bacteria while it super chlorinated the water. It was so strong that its label included a bright red warning about not entering the water for at least an hour after treating.

No problem. I began to dump the powder at the shallow end of my pool intending to work my way toward the filter at the deep end. Once there, a flick of the skimmer switch would insure that the potent disinfectors evenly reached the entire pool.

As I rounded the shallow end curve, I noticed a dark brown shape on the skimmer tubing. I stopped pouring and took a few steps to get a closer look at this object. Tilting my head to the left, I spied a skinny pink tinged tail. The object appeared to be a mouse or baby rat. His tiny movements made me think he was trembling either in fear or from the cool water.

Well, identifying the creature wasn’t enough. What should I do about him in my pool? Of course, I put an immediate moratorium on adding any more of the toxic powder. The skimmer was also not going to be turned on as it had been providing him a lifeboat up to this point. Any vibration could send my skinny- tailed visitor plunging into my highly-chlorinated pool.

Spotting my pool brush with its extra-long handle, I brought it near the tubing/lifeboat. Gently I drew the tubing and its tiny passenger to the side of the pool.

I figured it would leap out as soon as it approached the pool’s edge. I was wrong. Instead, his shivering became more intense and I wished he’d realize I only want to help him.

I repositioned the brush beneath the tubing loop he clung to. Now my hands were shaking as I slowly raised the loop and prayed he wouldn’t fall off.

I guess my hands hadn’t been shaking as violently as I’d felt because, with surgeon-like precision, I’d successfully managed to raise both tubing and passenger above the pool. Hovering above the safety of the dry deck, I waited for his victorious leap from the tubing. He made no attempt to leave.

Evidently simply raising him above the water wasn’t enough to save him. In slow motion, I pulled the loop back as I retreated with the brush that supported it.

We were now hovering over the middle of the concrete slab of my deck and it would have taken some serious head twisting for my little buddy to glimpse the ocean of water from which he’d recently been air-lifted. Confident that there was little chance that my pink tailed acquaintance would take another plunge into a potentially watery grave, I gently lowered the tubing he had saddled to the ground.

With the tubing resting on the walkway, I backed away. No need to replace the threat of water he’d just escaped with a giant like me looming over him.

It felt like minutes of non-movement dragging by as I watched from a safe distance. Was he unable to move? Had I been too late from the get-go? Had my rescue mission been for naught?

Oh, yeah, this wasn’t about me, was it? He let me know that with a twitch and the billowing of two perfectly pink-lined ears. It was a dramatic sight that not only balanced his body but reminded me of the majestic flapping of ears that elephants always seem to do on Animal Planet.

The changing direction of these little ears told me he was checking out his surroundings. The pool side coast, it seemed, was clear. Suddenly, he made a surprisingly long leap from his life boat into my bushes. Rustling leaves told me he was still moving when I could no longer see him.

I breathed a sigh of relief until an unwelcome thought tried to ruin this perfect moment. How might I have reacted to this tiny visitor if he’d shown up in my kitchen? I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be enjoying this happy ending.

I quickly abandoned this manufactured conflict of “what if”. I wouldn’t let it ruin a wonderful experience. It was at this moment that I felt like a gold medalist and Mother Theresa all rolled into one, and I was happy to be of service.

                                                                                     *****

A frequent recipient of the 500-word essay as punishment for her many grade-school misdeeds, Marsha Porter took up the pen at an early age. Upon graduation, she expanded her writing repertoire to include short stories, articles and movie reviews.