I’m not a cat person, but I’m less of a mouse person, so we have four cats who are supposed to be keeping the pesky rodents away. We have found dead mice in the yard, in Baby Gray’s boots that got left on the porch too long, and in traps here and there.
A while back, we started to find evidence of a mouse in my car. Yes, my car. Later, as I tried to clean my back windshield and the washer fluid flooded my front floor board, it was safe to say the evidence was pretty well confirmed.
I took my car in, they said “rodents” had enjoyed the tubing, fixed it, and sent me on my merry way.
In the back of my mind, I knew there was a possibility that at any time, I could be greeted by my nemesis while I was driving. Any time. I suggested a new car. Mr. Gray wasn’t going for it.
Friday evening Annie, Baby Gray, and I enjoyed a lovely hay ride, some cocoa, and another Santa visit in a neighboring town.
As we headed to T-Paw’s for supper, any time occurred.
It started with a noise. Just a small noise. The shuffling of my mom’s shopping bag. I thought she kicked it. It kept going. Then she asked the question. She wasn’t doing it. I knew. She knew. I carefully turned on the overhead lights. Beady eyes stared back at me from the passenger floor board. I killed the lights. I hit the blinker and started slowing immediately to the shoulder. She thought I was swerving. I wasn’t, but I would be if I didn’t get the car stopped and that thing touched me.
I covered my eyes as we opened the doors and light flooded the car again. I didn’t want to see him again. They’re so creepy. So, so creepy. She took away my driving privileges, looked for the mouse, and did all sorts of resourceful things while I stood there shaking and tried not to cry.
We were too far from the ranch for me to walk, so I climbed into the back seat and rode the rest of the way with my feet off the ground, my purse hugged in my lap, and my child touching me in the dark trying to scare me. Annie drove 20 or 30 miles an hour the entire way (something about trying not to hit any deer) while I texted Mr. Gray about possible new vehicle options. (Again, that was a no-go.)
We finally go to the ranch, and I couldn’t get out of that car fast enough–I sent Mr. Gray and his flashlight to assess the situation, and declared I would be driving the truck home. I did. He stopped on his way home to get sticky traps. Mickey stepped right in it. I can only hope he doesn’t have a wife or any children.