Kindness, Compassion, or Indifference

Yesterday morning as I tended to Puff and her kittens--filling water and food, and changing the litter box, I noticed something on the barn floor that seemed out of place. As I approached, thinking it was a small clod of dirt that had fallen off Pat's boot, the small something moved--then moved again--ever so slightly. Dismissing the idea that it was dirt or a ball of dust mixed with cat hair, I wondered if it could be a cricket or a beetle. But on closer inspection the color seemed off. Walking more slowly toward this "thing", wanting to give my brain enough time to catch up with my senses, I soon realized that the small something resembled a hairy finger. A pinkie, no less. A very small hairy finger---pink in the middle with soft wispy hair around the edges.

My heart stopped for a moment as my brain caught up with the message that this small something was alive, and mammal, and...a baby mouse. A very young baby mouse. Barely alive, alone in the middle of the barn, lying on the cold hard floor. Not bleeding or outwardly injured, but obviously dying.

What do I do?

Apparently, Puff had found a nest of newborn mice. She raided the nest, played with the baby, perhaps showing her kittens how to hunt, and how to toy with the prey, not killing, but leaving it hopelessly doomed. That's what cat's do.

Within moments two more babies caught my eye also lying helpless and hopeless. Their mother nowhere in sight.

I felt confused. On the one hand, we have a barn cat for the express purpose of managing the barn's rodent population. This is her job. And she's performing well.

On the other hand, I'm stunned by the recognition that I must decide what to do with these helpless, dying, babies. It's my responsibility to respond. But how?

I recall a very wise man named Gay Hendricks talk about how he categorizes people into three general groups--those who are kind, those who are compassionate, and those who are indifferent. Drawing upon Hendrick's general categories, I wonder if in this moment, my decision will come from a place of kindness, or compassion, or indifference as Gay suggests. If this is so, then there are three general responses to choose from. If I choose kindness, do I take the baby mice outside and finish them off with a quick blow from a shovel? Would compassion consist of trying to find the nest and return the babies to their mother? And what about indifference? I suppose if I scoop them up and simply drop them into a trash can, that would qualify as indifferent.

I have no idea how to proceed. I'm repulsed by the whole idea of "having to do something". Why didn't Puff kill them herself? I would have less of a problem picking up dead mice and disposing of them. I can't help but wonder about degrees of LIFE. What if I entered the barn and found three kittens barely alive? What if a coyote or fox had found them and toyed with them until they were barely alive? How would I respond? With kindness, compassion, or indifference? How do we reconcile that one life holds more importance than another? The importance lies within us; nature doesn't discriminate. We make the determination. We decide that the cat holds more importance, or VALUE, than the mouse. After all, didn't I hire Puff to manage the mice? Now that she has done her job, I find the consequences difficult to face.

Again, I find it interesting that we create a hierarchy of value on the different species of life. Most of us have no problem stepping on a spider or swatting a mosquito. I suppose the larger the creature or the more they are like us the greater the value! I don't really know. All I know is that I must decide how to deal with dying baby mice. Then reconcile my decision as one of kindness, compassion or indifference.

And so it is.