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This morning Marble brought me a present. He brought me a little field vole - a juvenile. Marble was playing with his new friend in the utility room, having just caught it under a bush in the garden and rushed indoors with it firmly clamped in his mouth.
So I said, "Give Mummy the nice present, Marble." I got a look of "Go to h*ll!" from Marble. I reminded Marble who is boss. "Give Mummy the nice mousie, Marble, or I'll take you to TED to have your temperature taken" Marble dropped the little vole at my feet. It was tiny - a juvenile, probably not long out of the nest. The little thing looked dead. I picked it up and looked over it carefully - no obvious injuries, but very still and looking very dead. Poor thing; another one to consign to the altar of Bast in the kitchen, otherwise known as the bin.
As I'm doing a project on what the cats catch as part of my university studies, I proceeded to take the vital statistics of the vole. Species: field vole. Weight: 8g. Then, the little thing twitched! It was still alive. No-one was more surprised than I was.
I popped the vole in my rescue box - an old cardboard shoe box, lined with kitchen towel and with ventilation holes round the sides. I put the lid on the box and left it in the quiet for an hour or so.
Later on, I inspected the vole, fully expecting it to have popped its clogs by now, either due to some unseen internal injuries or from shock. It was alive - but only just, as it was getting very cold. So, for the next half an hour, I sat with a young vole cradled in my left hand, warming it gently. I managed to get a drop or two of sugar water into its mouth, which it reluctantly drank. Vernon went off and filled a hot water bottle with warm water and put the rescue box on the hot water bottle, so it was gently warmed from the base. I put the young vole back in the box - it sat up and washed its whiskers! Well I never! I gave the vole another 10 minutes in the warm, and then checking the cats were inside, took the vole out into the garden and released it under a large bush, away from fang and claw. It lives to fight another day. Anyone know how many lives a vole has? I think this one used up a few of them today.
Editor's note:
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