Sorry You Died Little Mole

I tried to save this mole from death.

Hey Mr. Mole - run away!

My rodent terrorist cat had already assassinated his friend, and was now toying with him, keeping him close, not letting him run.
I quickly brought the cat inside, and tried to administer first aid to the mole.
His breathing was shallow, he was rooted to the spot- he would not run.
Then I had the bright idea that I should show him to my 5 year old son.
Blinded by my human privilege, I put the mole in a clay pot and brought him into my house.

The mole jumped.

He hit the floor.

He was NOT ok.

I quickly brought him back outside and for the rest of the morning I monitored him - hoping he'd move, run, dig, something, ANYTHING mole like.

His breathing was rapid, his eyes half mast, his whiskers twitched.

At one point I saw him clean himself- Hooray! He's stable!

But he would not move from his spot.

Was he dying?
Was it the fall?
The cat?
PTSD?

Hours later someone (I'm not pointing fingers here- but it wasn't me) left the back door open, and the next thing I knew- the mole was again a prisoner of war.

I ran out- chase the cat away screaming NOOOOO
but it was too late.
He'd gone to that great dirt tunnel in the sky.

I'm sorry you died little mole.

On behalf of all dumb dumb humans-
I am so sorry for it all.