Mousecapades

 **This was written in 2013 as a mentor text for my middle school English students. As it is one of my most popular stories to tell, I thought it would be a good way for you, Gentle Reader, to get a taste of my writing and hopefully have a chuckle as you envision these events. Be assured that my mouse phobia remains alive, powerful, and utterly ridiculous to this day.**

You may or may not know that I have a completely irrational, pathological but nonetheless very real fear of mice. Read on to learn of the happenings of my past 24 hours. 

Yesterday morning I came across a pile of shredded napkins in the floorboard of my car. I tried to think of any other explanation but when I also discovered some mouse poopies, that was it. Of course, this happened about 10 minutes before I needed to be at Bible study. I promptly shut the doors of the car, called my husband, and drove the truck to town...barely touching the pedals with my tiptoes, and keeping an eye out for anything scurrying. 

I made it back home with no issues. Joy arrived later in the evening and being the incredible husband that he is, he patiently went through the entire car, started up the motor, and even honked the horn a couple of times in the hopes of scaring any mice away with the racket. He also set a couple of traps in the car and closed it up for the night.

Morning came and to my relief, there was nothing in the traps and no further evidence of rodent activity. However, due to my above-mentioned mouse neuroses, it took about an hour for me to work up the courage to get in the car. First, I opened up all the doors and the hatch for a half hour or so, just in case there was anything that needed a way out. No signs, so then I brought Boz, my 13-year-old deaf and absolutely adorable cocker spaniel, to the car to have a sniff around. Nothing again. Then I started up the car and let it run for probably 10 minutes, honking the horn a few more times for good measure. Still nothing. 

The time had come to enter the vehicle. I sat in the driver's seat, feet hanging out of the vehicle in preparation for a hasty exit. Nothing. I relax, just the tiniest bit, and begin to believe that maybe all the Bible study friends who laughed and said, "Well, that mouse must be long gone by now" were right after all.

Knowing that God has certainly more pressing matters to attend to, I offered up a brief prayer and decided to drive to town. I had several errands to run, so I chose the closest place for the first stop. I took the back roads and chose to forgo the seatbelt in case I needed to bail out of the car. I made it to the first stop just fine, visited with a friend for a few minutes and decided to travel on to destination #2. I checked off that errand and seeing nothing furry, I decided the coast must be clear after all.

It was destination #3, Joy's grandma's house, when things took a turn for the worse.

After visiting with Marie for a while, it was time for me to take care of my last errand. Sadly, I don't know when that trip will ever take place.

Just as I was getting back in the car, I spotted something near the gas pedal.

Pink.

Tiny.

Wasn't there 30 minutes ago.

ALIVE.

A baby mouse. 

(Insert freaking out here)

Marie Dwyier, if you don't know her, is a true saint, through and through. She has come to my aid countless times in the 20+ years I have been part of this family, and today was no exception.

Joy's precious 91-year-old grandma got a wad of paper towels, scooped up the baby mouse, and stomped it dead right there on her garage floor. What a woman. She even went all through the car but couldn't find a nest anywhere. Being a retired nurse, she wanted to check my blood pressure once we got back in the house. I don't remember the numbers but they were well above normal and my pulse was 116. Freaking out, I told you. 

It was time to call the Hubs again. Unbeknownst to me, he had been having a bit of his own drama that afternoon. Joy was in Buffalo getting the first load of fireworks. The U-Haul they rented had broken down and they waiting for it to be towed back to Springfield. He was appropriately, if not sincerely, sympathetic but obviously could offer no help.

My backup buddies, Derick and Patrick, were either out of town or at work, so what's a girl to do? Call her daddy, of course! 

My dad was coming to town anyway and he laughingly said he would come by and check it out. He has also been my rescuer in the past, and he said at least this time I wasn't trapped on top of the bathroom cabinet (a story for a different day).  Dad again went all through the car and even looked under the hood for a mouse nest but this sucker was well hidden in there somewhere. Since it was looking like I was going to be Marie's new roommate unless another solution could be found, Dad agreed to drive my car home and let me follow in his truck. We got back home and Dad emptied out the car, looked it over again, and even put last night's still-baited traps back in place.

My dad is 83 years old now, and he would still drop anything to help if I needed him. What a guy.  

All of that to say...if you look for me around town, I'll be in the big silver Dodge dually. Not sure when if ever I'll be driving the Buick again. I need some chocolate. Or cheeseburgers. Or cats. Anyone wanna come pick me up?

Addendum:  No mice were caught in the traps my dad set, and my car eventually had to be driven to a local mechanic, where it took THREE DAYS to finally catch the vermin.  In the words of the mechanic, “She sure was a big’un.  We got her, though.”

Oh. My. Word.