Sylvia saddles up for next adventure: driving with mice

Not long after I dropped my youngest daughter Sylvia off at her latest gig at a national park in the wilds of New Mexico, she texted with a crisis.

“Dad, I think there’s a mouse getting into my car at night!” she wrote.

The snapshots that followed clearly corroborated her theory. Tiny gnaw marks on a half-eaten candy bar that had apparently fallen into the abyss between seats during our 22-hour drive from Ohio, paired with the presence of “little black grains of rice,” guided my fatherly advice.

“First, you must get every single morsel of food out of that car,” I wrote. “Next, you need to set a mousetrap on the floor, and last but certainly not least, you need to keep setting that trap until you catch no more mice.”

“Oh geez,” she whined. “He’s just a little desert critter looking for a bite to eat.”

“Wrong,” I replied. “He’s an opportunistic varmint that may have just hit the jackpot with an unwitting and kindhearted hostess. He’ll be bringing friends and family over for a party every night unless you heed my words.”

“Overreact much?” she sniped.

“If you have a mouse, then you have mice,” I said. “It’s a simple truth that I have yet to see proven otherwise.”

Sylvia is every bit as stubborn as she is humane, and while she did labor to glean every morsel and crumb from her floorboards, she refused to engage in the critical next step. With Google as her guide, she was convinced removing the food from the situation would fully eliminate the problem. This theory is patently wrong when it comes to life in the high desert. If a critter can make themselves safer and more comfortable in any regard, they will always play that option.

Day after day the tenderhearted hostess found more “evidence” the mouse had yet to vacate the premises, food or no food, and I was beginning to believe the girl would be content to just hand over the keys to the determined little varmint and call it a day. Finally, after almost two weeks of this silliness, a mistake was made, and a line was crossed.

Hot and tired from a long day hiking in the high country, Sylvia left her fancy, stupidly expensive coffee mug (I’ll not name the brand, but it rhymes with “Betty”) in the car’s cup holder upon arriving home. When she returned to the car in the morning, the thirsty little bandit, apparently also looking for a quick shot of caffeine, had relentlessly gnawed away at the opening in the heavy plastic lid.

I received a texted photo of the vandal’s work with a three-word message: THIS IS WAR!

One trap, one night, and one mouse was gone to the guillotine. The details were dramatic and, not surprisingly, accompanied by the suggestion the hostess-turned-executioner was retiring from battle.

“Where there’s a mouse, there are mice!” I urged.

The hostess-turned-executioner has bagged three of the varmints so far, and I hope she’s captured the lot of them as she is preparing to drive back across the country just days from now. The good news for that trip, however, is that a far less compassionate passenger will be riding shotgun. One-Nostril Newt, Sylvia’s trusty feline, should prove far less likely to hesitate when it comes to addressing the mouse issue head-on.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.