When Grunge and I first met, it was through the Plexiglas of a 10-gallon fish tank. She was one of a multitude of squirming, squealing mice, and it seems that by chance she was placed into a plastic bag and shoved into my hands. Her and four others were rescued from certain death that day when I purchased them. They were labeled as "feeder mice" and were from a Reptile Breeder. I didn't know it then, but Grunge was different. She was the only one of the four mice who allowed me to hold her and pick her up. She was also the only one to willingly run through the massive maze I had constructed and, coincidentally, always had the fastest time. As my project went on, running through the maze became routine to her, and she would bolt to the wall of her cage each morning, eager to run the maze and gain my attention afterwards. Even after the project has ended and the runs through the maze ceased, she still ran to meet me each day, squeaking and grunting whenever I talked to her. And subtly, a bond started to form.
About a week after I had completed the project, my father discovered that that I had not disposed of the mice I had used. They were worthless in his mind, and so he got rid of them. I came home one day to find him in the garage, drowning my precious mice. Now, the other mice were nowhere near as social and friendly as Grunge, but they didn't deserve what was happening to them! And as I started at him in horror, I saw that there was one brown mouse left in that cage. Just one left alive. Yet again, coincidence?
It took a lot of debating and arguaing, but I refused to allow my parents to take Grunge away from me after how attached I had become to her, and she had become to me. And finally, after a tense few days, Grunge was fully (well, nearly fully) accepted by the family as my pet. Heck, even Smokey loved her! He had been known to flop his girth down in front of her cage and try to sniff her trough the plastic. He would even fall asleep against her cage! Eventually, even my mom and Erin were able to look at her without grimacing, although I can't say the same for dad. But he never really likes animals anyway.
For almost two entire years, Grunge stayed in a plastic cage on my nightstand and became a treasured member of the family, at least to me. Every morning I would reach my hand into her cage and give her few quick pats, and maybe a small treat if I had time. And the moment I got home from school I would take her out and hold her until she cuddled up and fell asleep on my neck. If these daily playtime sessions were not met, she would squeak and grunt and carry on until I had no choice but to give in. Those of you who have met her know how vocal she could be! She was eventually toilet trained (she only pooped in one corner of her cage) and grew to love her cage so much that she never wanted to leave! I had left the cage top off a few times, whether it be on purpose or by accident, and she never once exited her cage. She could if she wanted to, but she was content to peek over the edge and wait until I came back with her refilled water bottle. A lot of you may think "Geez, Impy, it's just a stupid mouse." But this was a SPECIAL mouse, you nitwits. She was so indescribably affectionate and tame it was as if she wasn't real. But good things never last, and as Grunge grew older, her health began to deteriorate.
It all started with a bit of dry skin. Nothing serious. I gave her weekly skin-soothing baths and started supplementing her diet with vitamins to account for her age. But she was getting worse. Open sores started appearing all over her body, and they could only be controlled by daily applications of skin ointment and another change in diet. She seemed to be getting better, until I left for Puerto Rico. I asked my family to take care of her, she wouldn't survive without proper care! But they ignored me. I was almost positive she wouldn't make it through the week. I was thrilled when I came home to find her alive, but she was far from healthy.
She began to bald. The sores grew larger and larger, and a few became infected. She began to drastically lose weight, and in the last week of her life, she stopped speaking. I tried everything to bring her back to her former glory, but I was too late. As the weeks passed she grew sicker and sicker, until I woke up to find her lying on her side, pressed against the plastic of her cage, barely breathing. She died in my hands. She was a creature who loved me from the second I held her for the first time. She was an avid listener, and even more energetic playmate. Yet she was also a docile sungglebug and loving friend. I'll never forget you Grunge, have fun squeaking your heart out up there.
