Left field

Not many times in life do I get to play the role of superhero, so when the opportunity arises, I throw my Super Kelly cape over my pajamas and go for it.

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball when you need it most. This was one that came out of left field.

To say I was in a bad mood doesn’t quite do it justice. I was cranky, irritable and slightly dehydrated (draw your own conclusions). I was commiserating over things not worthy of my time; stupid, insignificant worries.

That’s when I noticed something odd in the backyard. My little dog Scout was chasing a creature hopping in the grass. I was determined to spare the little thing, whatever it was, from the vigorous affection of my dog. Turns out, it was a field mouse.

I sprung into action, which is to say I yelled to my son to come and get it.

Look, I’m brave and all, but there was no way I was risking touching the mouse. Kids are resilient. I chased the dog away while my son trapped the mouse in a box. Safely secured, it was clear the mouse was traumatized and injured. He couldn’t run. He was toppling over to one side. Surely he would die soon. He needed me.

If I left him to fate, it would have come in the form of my cat that eats about three mice a day. Maybe a bird would swoop him up. Could I, in good conscious, allow this to happen?

No. I could not.

Yes, I had fallen for its big eyes and whiskers, and while I accepted our friendship would be short lived, I felt the little creature needed a name. I called him Left Field, since technically, he was on the left side of the yard and who doesn’t love a baseball metaphor?

Like all superheroes, I called a friend for help (What? Some of them do that, you know). My pal Erin is a wildlife rescuer who was kind enough not to laugh when I suggested I spare the rodent.

Clearly defining my options (like releasing it), she knew what choice I would make: the mouse needed a temporary house.

And cheese. What? They love cheese. I read that somewhere. So I appeased the horrified mouse with cheese slices. I figured if it could be his last meal, Kraft it would be.

Then, with my invisible cape draped over my pajamas, I drove across town to the pet store to purchase a critter-keeper, mouse treats and soft bedding, despite the fact that the joint bank account was in overdraft already. Pay extra bank fees or save a mouse? This was superhero work. I made the right choice. This was an emergency after all.

I sent the Carpenter a text message photo of the mouse. He was less enthusiastic than I’d hoped. He doesn’t really appreciate how lucky he is to be married to a superhero, I guess. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the overdraft.

Here’s the point: compassion is a super human power. Life throws you curve balls right out of left field. When you help another living thing, even a mouse, you help yourself too. It’s a home run. Karma, baby.

Left Field survived the night. The Carpenter had lunch money. Bad mood disappeared.

Yep, my work here is done.