A Climber

 My wife and I were sitting in bed when I heard the familiar tck-tck of paws on a screen. I flipped forward, belly to mattress, resting on my forearms at the foot of our bed. Head tilted to the side, I peered into the first of two cages on the bookshelf before me. There she was: small, a coat of white and gray splotches, perfect pink toes and round pink ears, hanging upside down. 

"I knew it," I cried with glee, bouncing back to a seated position next to my wife. 

"What?" They laughed. 

"Junebug! She's crawling around upside down." 

Six weeks ago, we brought home three baby mice: Petal, Dandelion, and Junebug. Petal is sleek and fast with a burnt orange coat. Dandelion is a very light tan and a somewhat bossy disposition. Junebug, the last of the three that I chose, looked like she might be a week or so younger than the others. She was so, so small then. 

She was so small I worried about her in relation to the other two. For the first week or so, we noticed patches of short fur on Junebug that indicated one, or both, of the others might be bullying her. She would also, occasionally, let out a frustrated squawk. Dandelion would chase her and she would squeak in displeasure. 

Petal and Dandelion would amuse themselves by running together on their wheel. They would run as fast as possible and then one would stop or change direction, allowing themselves to be carried around by the force of the other's momentum. These days, Dandelion will play, too, but at the beginning she would just climb to the top of their wooden house and squint at the ceiling of their cage. 

"She needs height. She wants to climb," I would tell my wife. 

In my mind, I was going to get her a ladder, or a little house with more floors. Maybe I still will. For now, though, I have just turned a cardboard box, the size of a VHS, on its side and pressed it between the wall of their cage and their little wooden house. 

For those who may be concerned: the squabbles quieted as the three adjusted to their new home. Junebug's fur is now full. She still occasionally squeals in irritation when one of the others tries to groom her, but the three all seem like genuine friends. 

Okay, back to the climber. 

A few years ago, I had a cage of three mice: Marigold, Goblin, and Sprout. Marigold had been an impulse buy earlier that year--the impulsivity of which I really felt when I realized the other two mice I had were reaching the end of their respective lives. I bought Goblin and Sprout after the loss of one mouse and the recognition that the other had several quickly growing tumors. Before Goblin and Sprout, none of the other three ever climbed on the metal screen ceiling of their cage. But Goblin? 

Goblin spent a lot of time looking up. She was an adventurous little mouse who my sibling and I once watched scale to the top of a fairly large mint plant. In their cage, Goblin would climb to the highest point, reach up, and grab on to the metal screen above them. She would climb across, drop down, and return to do it all again. Eventually, she got to the point where she could standing jump from the bottom of the cage, grasp onto the ceiling, and then climb across. 

After Goblin started the practice, Marigold quickly picked it up. Eventually, when given a high enough point to climb to, Sprout did as well. For Goblin, though, it was seemingly her favorite activity. She did three dimensional laps around the entire cage. 

It was Goblin I thought of as Junebug stared up at the top of their cage. She's going to be a climber, I thought. 

So the other day. Tck-tck. Paws on metal. A tilt of my head. And there she was: Junebug, hanging upside down, climbing along. She dropped down to the soft bedding on the floor of her cage and ran back to her starting position. My wife and I watched as she stretched, grabbed hold of the screen, and started climbing. 

"Yes!" I cried, delighted. "I knew it! I knew it." 

"When did you know?" my wife laughed. 

"Like from day one. That's why I was always saying she needed height!" 

Below her, Petal looked up in awe. Junebug climbed over and then sat on the top of their water bottle. Petal ran to the top of the cardboard box. She ran down again and stood at the tallest point of their wheel, reaching upwards. She moved and grabbed onto the base of the water bottle, trying to scale it. 

"Petal wants to do it, too," my wife observed. 

We watched as Junebug slid down the side of the water bottle and Petal stopped her. Petal appeared to check her all over and then run with her back to the top of the cardboard box. 

This is my favorite thing about mice: they are small and simple little creatures with distinctive personalities that emerge. I've had mice who hardly cared at all about a wheel. Mice who liked to tunnel. I've had climbers and racers. Some mice will fixate on a task until its resolved. I've had little architects, little bullies, little chatterers. Some have really liked me and really enjoyed being held. Some stayed nervous into old age. 

It's also interesting how their personalities develop throughout age, or in relation to the others around them. 

For now? Dandelion doesn't seem interested in climbing. She seems primarily interested in running and rearranging their habitat. Petal seems curious and competitive. It wouldn't surprise me if, soon, she was scaling the ceiling, too. But Junebug? Junebug is a climber.