Now I'm a big fan of Mickey Mouse, but he doesn't blaze through space when you least expect him to. It's that scurrying that mice do, like a flasher at a wedding, that scares me to death, and the thought of a mouse in our car made me ready to spring like, well a set mousetrap. "Where do ya think he is?" I asked, as if my  mouse husband were a big deal mouse expert.

"I don't know, he could be back at the house getting more pumpkin seeds."

That thought calmed me as we drove into town.

Just as we pulled into the bank parking lot, I sneezed (no I'm not allergic to mice) and reached for a Kleenex in the glove compartment. That's when I saw IT! The mouse had made a nest out of the Kleenex! I screamed, slammed the glove compartment door, wiped my nose on my sleeve and took some big, deep cleansing breathes to calm myself. Terry was hysterically laughing as I continued to try to regain my composure.

 And for the rest of the story……

"OMG, she (I decided it was a girl) is in that nest, I just know it. She's probably got babies in there or if she's back at the house like you said, now she's probably upset because we've driven off in her new RV! Oh and if she does have babies, they're gonna be hungry pretty soon and since she's a lactating mother, her little breasts are gonna get all engorged while were gallivanting off to town to see what's new at Walmart!"

Terry just kept laughing, which helped my mood a little. He collected himself enough to go in the bank and even though I didn't have any business in there I wasn't about to sit in a quiet car waiting for him or the mouse to show up whichever came first. His banking business took way too long and he suggested, "Why don't you go out in the car and sing real loud so the mouse won't come out?" I returned to our car and sang at the top of my lungs "M-I-C, K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E, Mickey Mouse, Mickey Mouse, forever let us hold our banners high. . ." until Terry returned.

It's hard to know what to do when you're torn. See, I'm an animal lover, but I also eat them. I don't wear fur, but I have a leather purse. I like Mickey but we own mouse traps and use D Con. I'm torn between snuffing this little four-legged cheese eater or seeing it as a possible opportunity to make trillions of dollars like Walt did. If I could get over the fact that mice scurry, maybe I could share our car with this new little family. Mice have babies every six weeks and those babies can have babies when they're six weeks old! Maybe I could journal their life on the road.

When we got back home, Terry opened the glove compartment (I couldn't look) and took the nest out. After a thorough inspection, he concluded the shredded Kleenex was not the nest, just the building materials for a nest that must be someplace else. . . in the car.

So I sit here torn between D Con and one of those signs to put in the car window: Babies On Board!

Thank you for reading my blog! If you enjoy my writing, I think you’ll like my latest work: The Joy of Being Disorganized. If you think you have too much stuff, I’d like to give you chapter seven. It’s entitled There Arose Such a Clutter and it will help you see clutter with new eyes.