My last week was pretty stressful, and nothing turned out the way I wanted.

My plan had been something along these lines:

1. Nurse Happy Hoppy The Orphaned Mouse Baby back to health, wean him off, and release him (or keep him as a pet).

2. Create an awesome Halloween costume, look glamourous, and be on the Halloween Parade.

None of that worked out.

On the day of the parade, I woke up with a massive headache. I was pretty much exhausted by that time, so my body finally giving in after a week of sleep deprivation was not surprising. Since I am allergic to just about all painkillers I ever tried, I tried all home remedies I knew — without much effect.

But much worse than that, my little mouse had started acting weird. I cannot pin this down on one specific symptom, but having spent the entire week with Happy Hoppy, I knew something was wrong with him. Every day, he had been getting stronger, his fur had grown very pretty, since he had spent a lot of time groming himself, and I had been bathing him whenever he had ended up being covered in soy milk. He always enjoyed climbing on my hand to take a nap. I had been feeding him every 1-2 hours, around the clock, and he had always been very eager to drink and drink and drink

Just not this morning, even though I offered him his favorite, soy milk creamer. And he got even more reluctant in the following hours.

Then, as I was starting to dress up for the parade, he suddenly started spinning like crazy in his pet carrier. He had been walking counterclockwise before, but now he was spinning at a spooky speed. The only way I could calm him down was by holding him in my hand. In my hand, he kept quiet, and refused to drink, and no longer pooped. During the entire last week, Rachel's happiness was measured in mouse pooplets. Now Happy Hoppy was shutting down. I realized that there would be no way I would enjoy whatever would happen next, but being on the parade while my little mousie was dying would be the worst thing I could do. So I informed the volunteer coordinator that they would have to do without me.

Hoppy dying was less of a shock than Timothy's very sudden death.

((graphic Hoppy))

Dean and I hugged and cried. I spent the rest of the evening cleaning up all those little mouse baby supplies, then I made myself a nice hot apple tea and sat down to take a few last pictures of my Happy Hoppy. I wrapped him in white soft tissue, prepared a flower pot with fresh soil and gave him a nice funeral.

Nothing I did last week had turned out the way I had wished for. I had watched educational videos on YouTube on how to rescue orphaned baby mice, read about how to fix diarrhea in baby mice, how to give them a proper stomach massage; I had roamed the best pet stores in Manhattan in search for supplies for mice, and I had gotten up every few hours to care for this little creature. I had prepared a pretty costume with glorious make up. I had funny accessories and phantastic masks ready for a wonderful evening.

Instead I ended up exhausted and drained and crying. Dean and I slept through Sunday. I woke up occasionally because I dreamt I felt the mouse sleeping in my hand, tickling me by turning around every now and then. I woke up, and my hand was empty.

But I am glad I did this. Je ne regrette rien. ((graphic Edit Piaff))

So I was not on the Halloween parade (again), and a baby mouse I fought to rescue died despite my efforts (again). But I know I am somebody who matters to a few other people, I know I have exciting projects awaiting me, and I am not a clueless tourist pretending to be a hip person with a cup of coffee in their hand while blocking the sidewalk for those who actually have things to do. I actually am somebody who is relevant, and both Timothy and Hoppy were members of our little family. Crazy as this week was, me sitting on the bed, feeding Hoppy, while Dean and Scratchie were sleeping next to me (usually, once I get up in the morning, Scratchie takes my place next to Dean) will always be one of my favorite memories of my entire life.

When I first moved to Manhattan four years ago, Dean and I witnessed a few people trying to rescue a baby squirrel that had fallen out of his nest, and was hiding under a parking car on 1st Avenue. Once they had retrieved the squirrel, one man rushed into the postal service store to get a box to put the squirrel in, and then he and his friend went off to the veterinarian around the corner. I was still very new to New York, but I knew now that this was a good place to live in.

A year later I helped rescue a turkey who had escaped his enclosure and was walking on a busy street in downtown Manhattan. ((link to my diary))

Once I learnt to actually open my eyes to these things, I started noticing them everywhere. A while ago, in my favourite coffee shop, I saw a firefighter prevent a girl's dog walk out of the door onto the street while she was distracted by a phone call. Nothing happened because this man had acted just in time. Not a big deal at all, but he prevented so much heartbreak with just one little step. And only I saw it. No newspaper reported that nothing bad happened to this girl's beloved dog.

This had happened to me, too: A few times I stumbled and fell on the street, and in Manhattan, you will always immediately have a few people helping you up on your feet, willing to call an ambulance, and stay with you until you have recovered from the shock.

About two years ago, Dean and I were going home after a some event, and at a very busy intersection in Midtown, Dean absent-mindedly stepped onto the street when the lights turned. Out of nowhere, a police officer stretched out an arm and pulled him back. I was so horrified I couldn't even think clearly enough to thank the officer. As far as I am concerned, every cop I see could have been the man that saved my husband, so I treat each of them as if he did.

(( link How to care for a cat )) caption: Barbara the Flying Cat Lady has been rescuing cats forever, caring for sick cats, ensuring feral cats get neutered, yet she doesn't make the news.

This is stuff that is ordinary and important because it defines who we are, what we want to do with our lives, what gives meaning to our existence.

But it doesn't make the evening news. What you see on your TV set about New York, or any other city, is irrelevant noise. What makes the news is loud and silly, and I say this fully aware that every New Yorker's heart aches whenever they see a firetruck — with the names of the fire fighters who died on 9-11 engraved on them. 9-11 was loud and irrelevant; what matters is who we chose to be despite what happened in our lives.

And I say this as a supposed former investigative journalist: The bobbleheaded journalist impersonators in perfect makeup and ironed clothes and their cameramen are completely irrelevant. They bore us with the names and faces of scumbags, cop killers, insane freaks who push people infront of subway trains, or who drag race while intoxicated, and kill a father working as a florist in a corner store. They tell us about know the posh slum landlord who is responsible for the death of two people and the tenants of three buildings losing their homes, their beloved pets, their businesses.

But the mass media rarely bother to tell us about the people who do awesome stuff every day. The internet does! If you want to see people do awesome stuff, look for them on the web. The journalists and wannabes have been replaced by common people with a GoPro camera attached to their gear. By somebody in Canada with a YouTube channel. By people who do not own any makeup whatsoever.

(( graphic Fanfare for the common man )) ((cat rescue))

I am indefinitely grateful for all these people who put up information on the web: How to rescue animals. What awesome tricks you can teach your pets (Being able to perform tricks is extremely important for any pet; it gives them a sense of being relevant in the world). How to build a better mousetrap. How to brew a better coffee.

I am grateful all you awesome people out there are fighting with me. I am old enough to remember life before the internet, and I remember how it started growing: At one point in the late 90s, I caught myself thinking, well, there is nothing on the internet about this or that particular problem right now, but chances are, if I research this problem again six months from now, things might have changed fundamentally. I deeply apprechiate being able to google any problem or question I might have, and most likely finding some really good recources.

Thank you, everybody who ever published something on the web!

— Matter to Somebody Else —

And all of this is good news. It means you don't miss anything but turning your TV off forever. All the important stuff is what you live through every day. You can be important by choosing to not be a celebrity.

- Be aware when you walk out on the street; be somebody's hero.

- Be a New Yorker by doing awesome stuff, not by holding a coffee mug blocking the sidewalk for those who are actually getting stuff done. Just because somebody is not wearing a FDNY uniform does not mean they are not rescuing a life, so stay out of the fucking way!

- Be a world citizen by publishing what you learnt during your ride around the Sun on planet Earth. No matter where you life, you can be a part of my family.

The only contribution that is too small is no contribution at all. (Timothy the Mouse) ((graphic Timothy))