The unexpected guest: a poem in two parts

I.
Cat plays at my feet,
tickles my leg
once;
twice;
thrice.
I look down to tell him to stop,
and see he's too far away
to reach my shin.
How is he tickling me?
Mid-wonder,
something skitters inside my pants leg.
Palmetto bug?!
I shake my leg forcefully,
flinging it away.
It squeaks.
Mouse.
I try to rescue it before the cat can kill it, but
the mouse is small and fast and
takes refuge behind the fish tank.
Vigilant cat stands sentry, while my shin
replays the memory of where
the silken paws
climbed.

II.
Vigilant cat!
You waited patiently,
ears cocked,
pupils wide,
hours long.
The mouse waited too,
then, tricked by your silence,
emerged from behind the fish tank.
You pounced.
Mouse pounced.
I pounced.
We danced together erratically
on tip-toes until at last
darkness fell
in the concave form of black polypropylene,
no longer single-use plastic.

Bewildered rodent rests now
under a giant oak tree,
blinking in the sunlight,
panting,
a fang hole in its side.
A mortal wound?

The poet ponders:
Will mouse live or will mouse die or
will mouse find its way back up my leg?