It’s surely not strange to be up with worry the night before a move. But usually you aren’t worried sick about rodents.
We’ve been guinea pig sitting for friends over the last few days – an easy enough task to fit in and around the work of packing boxes and cleaning house before a move. It’s not like guinea pigs need long walks or baths or anything.
Which was just as well. With the movers was set to arrive bright and early on Monday morning and everything in that final stage of …well, chaos before the last bits and pieces settle into their allotted boxes, there was the matter of dinner. Monday may have been moving day, but it was also my birthday and while festivities were not really going to be possible, we thought that we might just squeeze in a nice meal on Sunday night. I worried that with all the emotion of the move and the stress of work left to do, the kids (and likely the mother, too) wouldn’t be able to settle down for anything like a civilised restaurant meal. But the Spouse felt confident and wanted to celebrate my old age in style and somehow he made it all work beautifully. He managed to get us an early evening reservation in a little local bistro that I’d been wanting to try for ages where the kids were just thrilled with huge plates of sausages and french fries (with a side order of sauted onions for the Bean). The two of us then devoured one of those meals that you never would or even could create at home : a sharing platter with braised ox tail, miso beef and gouda sandwich with french dip, pulled pork, Thai coleslaw, piri piri chicken wings, bbq baked beans – oh goodness, it was like a birthday feast!
Swollenly contented, we headed home through the park and even though the weather was growing drizzly and grey, the kids seemed promisingly sleepy and we both felt confident that we’d accomplish the work ahead and get to bed at a reasonable time.
Ha.
Once Plum was in his pyjamas, he had no intention of sleeping. We tag teamed between him and the boxes for too long before remembering our piggy sitting duties, so I kept singing and shushing and the Spouse headed around the corner to our friends’ garden.
When he’d been gone a long half hour, I started to dread his return. The toddler still fussed and fumed, but by now I wasn’t sure how much of that was him and how much he was echoing on my own worried energy. When the phone rang, I knew it was bad. A empty hutch. A flock of ravenous seagulls. One large cat. A whole menu of worries.
Instead, it was fairly predictable. But sadly, no less serious. The timidest, darkest furred of the piggies had got it into her head that the Spouse was large and terrifying and she made a dash for the bushes.
What could I do? With a squalling Plum in my arms and a house to pack, not to mention the two sleeping cherebs I didn’t want to abandon? Anyway, a screaming tot in the dark and rainy garden was not going to tempt any animal towards a scary man. (Sorry, Spouse. I’m just imaging the piggy’s perspective. I think you’re lovely.)
I suggested that he knock on another neighbour’s door and plead community emergency. Sadly, sadly, by the time the crew was assembled with flashlights and clever strategies, the piggy was nowhere to be seen. They all searched anyway, combing the garden as best as they could, but to no avail. A soggy, defeated Spouse came home eventually to tell the tale.
We stayed up late and worked diligently on the packing. We tried to ignore the cold sound of rain falling outside. We tried not to think too much about the garden. And then, not yet ready for the movers but not able to make any more decisions at all, we went to bed.
It is terribly difficult to be tucked up in your bed, warm and dry, and to know that somewhere out in the dark, there is a little lost creature, shivering and terrified. And that there is nothing whatsoever you can do.
We got up early and the Spouse headed right for the garden. The other guinea pigs were fine, but despite another hunt, the last was most certainly lost.
The movers came just after 9 o’clock, and I took the kids out into the garden to keep them out of the way – and also because some proud and naïve morsel of my imagination wondered if I might be able to sort the whole thing out. Of course, it didn’t work like that. We couldn’t find a whisker. Beangirl did find droppings which she was certain was a clue, but I was sure just marked where the run had been the day before.
After lunch, we wrote to inform our absent friends about the jailbreak. We spent the afternoon heartsick as we finished up the last of the scrubbing around the house. The landlord was due to come over just before dinner and we thought it best to have the kids elsewhere so I took them out to the garden one last time. I did a slow circuit of the bushes, rather hopelessly, as the kids played with some soggy garden toys.
And then I hear a sound in the bushes. A scurry, maybe. I could convince myself of that. Then a worried dash. But it might have been a bird. It was probably just a bird, but I froze nonetheless. Then I saw the bright eye. Looking out of the shadows under the leaves like a bright button, blinking. I don’t know why noses are described as being button-like. The image makes far more sense with eyes. She looked at me, sizing me up, uncertain but wondering if I might be able to help her out of her hungry predicament.
I have never been so pleased to see a rodent.
It took some mighty cajoling to get her out. She shuffled this way and that, staying out of reach, but responding to my voice. I called for the Spouse to help and between the two of us, with a lot of to and fro and soft, soft voices, we managed to get a hold of her and then reunite her with her piggy friends in the hutch. Safe and sound and found.
Funny how that changed everything. Everything felt better. Our home was spotless, loved and thanked. Our move was a victory, organised and accomplished. Tuesday’s travel would be a happy family adventure for sure. Over dinner, the Spouse and I kept catching each other’s eye, grinning. It all felt like a reprieve. Like new life. Like forgiveness. Like a mighty joke out of the blue. We didn’t have to leave our dear friends with that hard news as we moved away. Instead, it was only another strange anecdote about the stresses of moving home, though one with a happy punchline. That and perhaps a tale of adventure about the smallest and pluckiest member of our friends’ family.
