Mouse

I love it when I’m right.

On Tuesday I went to town in the Radish, my red Taurus, and noticed that the kleenexes sticking out of the box in the front seat were all shredded, like a mouse had chewed them. "Probably Emily had a case of nerves after a hard day at school and sat there and tore up kleenexes on the way home," I figured before I discarded the torn tissues.

Two days later I drove to town again and again the kleenexes were shredded. Very strange. And I didn’t think any one had used the car in the meantime. "I think there’s a mouse in my car," I announced, but I don’t think anyone believed me.

I set a mousetrap next to the kleenexes and the next morning I looked and behold, a mouse was caught in it. Thankfully Ben doesn’t mind emptying mousetraps so he dispatched it for me in the fescue field. And the family knew that Mom was right after all with her strange suspicion.

It would have been nice to be wrong, in a way, because who wants a mouse in their car? (If this had been my sister-in-law Bonnie, and if the mouse had shown itself while she was driving, we would have found Bonnie and the car wrapped around a tree.)

But, as I said, it was nice to be right.

Quote of the Day:
"I gotta go get my hormones before I kill my children."
--Anonymous friend of mine (the one with dentures)