I don’t know how this happened. It rained gently last night, but no torrential gully-washer that might sweep up a wee beastie.
Perhaps he lost his footing o’n the roof in the rain. Or maybe it was just despair. If you or a mouse you care about is considering suicide, call a medical hotline.
I’m actually looking forward to a gully washer, just so I can test out the swale / rivulet / Six-Flags-lazy-river-Rube-Goldberg-device that I have constructed above the basement puddle. I sacrificed the sunflower bed: now it’s all chopped up and piled against the siding, then sloping down a channel cut into the yard leading to the drainage system we paid way too much for. Bricks and concrete divert the water collecting on the patio so it cascades toward the neighbors.
Maybe the mouse was trying to belly flop off the roof and land in the rapids below, then body surf past the day lilies into the raccoon feeding area. He lived for danger, wee beastie he. Not timorous at all.