Of Mice and...well, Forget the Men

It’s been one of those weeks with men, making mice a preferable topic. I don’t mean men in relation to me personally. Not exactly, anyway. But it’s a little hard to swallow when one of your closest friends tells you there might, maybe be a man probably interested in her. Because for me who has an imagination “too fast, too furious”, the “might, maybe and probably” of the conversation is missed while I imagine standing up at her wedding. Didn’t get as far as what color my dress would be, but I definitely got as far as I’m still very single and now even more alone. But pushing past the tears, it all ends up being a hoax – probably. For apparently the guy is hedging his bets and pursuing more than one girl. Guess desperation sets in by the age of thirty-six. Jerk.

So on to the preferable topic of mice. Again, I’m not referring to me personally. But back on the plains of Indiana, spring has arrived and the wintering mice who found our garage are coming out in droves. Mom has seen them when she’s moved some boxes around, which isn’t good but better than finding them in one’s car. Which is exactly what happened last Friday on their way home from an event at church. Mom saw a little pair of ears pop up in the corner of the dashboard. Then a little face. A little mouse face. She scared it, saw it duck down, heard it scamper to the other side of the dashboard and there popped up its little head on Dad’s side. She said this happened all the way home. I kept picturing something akin to that arcade game where gophers pop up and you hit them with a mallet.

So, Dad set a trap in the garage. And caught a mouse. Next day, though, Caleb opened the back of the Suburban , moved something, and out scampered a mouse. Dad set another trap in the car. Caught another mouse. However, they’re still about – both in the car and in the garage. They’ve been heard. Dad is setting more traps. I suggested the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Mom says they’ll sick Rosie on them. You see, our cats don’t really catch mice. One isn’t interested and the other has caught one, but she’d be too scared to go out in the garage. However, Caleb’s dog Rosie loves them. She hunts then in the yard, chasing them and catching them – alive. Once she trotted back into the house, walked over to Sally who sat on the couch watching a movie and dropped one in her lap. A live one. For she just catches them in her long snout and doesn’t seem to get the idea they are more than a toy.

But perhaps Rosie will learn to be a hunter – even though Collies aren’t hunters by nature. Or maybe our cats will find their hunting extinct. Until then, Dad’s traps better do the trick. Unless anyone knows the number of a good Piper…