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Rain hosed down Jennifer's car. It had been going since she got off work, when she had to rush home and get her gym bag, having forgotten it that morning. Turning back around and heading towards the gym, she saw the stoplight up ahead turning yellow and slowed the car down.
All the headlights and the glow from signs, turning every puddle into a mirror, left the area was well lit. Movement in the corner of her eye drew Jennifer's attention. There, under the awning of the closed store, curled up in their doorway, huddled a figure. Red and brown, turned dark in the low light, and round ears. That was the only impression she had before the light turned green and she had to go forward. Something made her change lanes, slide into a parking lot, and pause. It was a vague impression, a feeling, but she thought she recognized who she'd seen. Once or twice coming home from work, or once just in her neighborhood, the poor mouse shuffling around. Had someone set their pet loose? Had she ran away from some cruel owner? Or just grown up on the street?
Every time Jennifer had seen her, the woman had just ignored it. Look away. That was how you reacted to the homeless right? No matter the species. But it was the rain and the dark that changed things. They were in a business district, a place full of strip malls and fast food joints. The best place to hide from the rain was over the roof over the bank's drive-thru. Poor thing must've been passing through and got caught in the rain. That was what spurred Jennifer on. She pulled out, re-crossed the intersection, and drove into the parking lot of the mouse. The car parked close enough to let her see the poor thing was soaked to the bone, just as she suspected.
Jennifer dug around in her back seat, then pushed open the door. The rain came down in stinging pebbles as she hurried over to the awning. "Hi," she said, awkwardly, trying not to scare the mouse. "You look...wet. Here." The woman offered an umbrella, and then a sweater she'd abandoned in the back seat after a chilly morning. The smile offered was weak, hopeful, apologetic. When her gifts were accepted, Jennifer backpedaled and slid into her car.
There. Good deed done. She could exorcise her conscience. But as she exercised at the gym, breasts struggling under her sportsbra and dark hair bouncing around in a tail, her mind kept going back. What had happened? How long had the poor thing been without a meal? A pair of clean clothes? Why hadn't there been better regulations to take care of this sort of thing? Who could let put their pet out into the wild like that? It gnawed at Jennifer. "She's not your responsibility," the woman told herself after the first mile. Which was true, but that wasn't the point. She'd offered help, hadn't that been enough? It hadn't been food. That was no doubt what the girl had needed. To get it out of her mind, Jennifer made a promise: if the mouse was still there on her way back, she'd offer more. There. Not like she'll even still be there when Jen got back, the umbrella letting her go where she wanted, right? By then it would be out of the human's hands, letting Jennifer forget.
It did let her think about something else. Sure, under the cool jets of the gym shower she wondered once or twice if the mouse would be there. What if she was? But the belief that no, she wouldn't be, propelled Jen through the rest of her post-gym routine. Finally she was back in the car, heading home. She could take another route, avoid that whole intersection... No. That would eat at her for weeks. No, she went the same way she'd come, eyes open.
All the headlights and the glow from signs, turning every puddle into a mirror, left the area was well lit. Movement in the corner of her eye drew Jennifer's attention. There, under the awning of the closed store, curled up in their doorway, huddled a figure. Red and brown, turned dark in the low light, and round ears. That was the only impression she had before the light turned green and she had to go forward. Something made her change lanes, slide into a parking lot, and pause. It was a vague impression, a feeling, but she thought she recognized who she'd seen. Once or twice coming home from work, or once just in her neighborhood, the poor mouse shuffling around. Had someone set their pet loose? Had she ran away from some cruel owner? Or just grown up on the street?
Every time Jennifer had seen her, the woman had just ignored it. Look away. That was how you reacted to the homeless right? No matter the species. But it was the rain and the dark that changed things. They were in a business district, a place full of strip malls and fast food joints. The best place to hide from the rain was over the roof over the bank's drive-thru. Poor thing must've been passing through and got caught in the rain. That was what spurred Jennifer on. She pulled out, re-crossed the intersection, and drove into the parking lot of the mouse. The car parked close enough to let her see the poor thing was soaked to the bone, just as she suspected.
Jennifer dug around in her back seat, then pushed open the door. The rain came down in stinging pebbles as she hurried over to the awning. "Hi," she said, awkwardly, trying not to scare the mouse. "You look...wet. Here." The woman offered an umbrella, and then a sweater she'd abandoned in the back seat after a chilly morning. The smile offered was weak, hopeful, apologetic. When her gifts were accepted, Jennifer backpedaled and slid into her car.
There. Good deed done. She could exorcise her conscience. But as she exercised at the gym, breasts struggling under her sportsbra and dark hair bouncing around in a tail, her mind kept going back. What had happened? How long had the poor thing been without a meal? A pair of clean clothes? Why hadn't there been better regulations to take care of this sort of thing? Who could let put their pet out into the wild like that? It gnawed at Jennifer. "She's not your responsibility," the woman told herself after the first mile. Which was true, but that wasn't the point. She'd offered help, hadn't that been enough? It hadn't been food. That was no doubt what the girl had needed. To get it out of her mind, Jennifer made a promise: if the mouse was still there on her way back, she'd offer more. There. Not like she'll even still be there when Jen got back, the umbrella letting her go where she wanted, right? By then it would be out of the human's hands, letting Jennifer forget.
It did let her think about something else. Sure, under the cool jets of the gym shower she wondered once or twice if the mouse would be there. What if she was? But the belief that no, she wouldn't be, propelled Jen through the rest of her post-gym routine. Finally she was back in the car, heading home. She could take another route, avoid that whole intersection... No. That would eat at her for weeks. No, she went the same way she'd come, eyes open.
