Mouse

My sister sent me a text message the other day about a mouse and mouse nest her husband found in the glove box of their car. Um yuck. I can understand why it might happen. They live in an urban area and park their car in a garage that can easily be rampant with mice, as theirs has easy access from outside. He told her he has had that happen before and that their mechanic indicated that the mouse is able to get into the glove compartment through the engine.

However they arrive my sister and I both share a similar exclamation that we NEVER want to be the ones to open the glove compartment and have a mouse stare back at you. Especially if you are driving down the road and reach over to grab something from the glove box (yes, safely…but admit it you have done it before). If I was driving, and open the glove box, and see little eyes staring at me, I might drive off the road. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

It reminded me of a memory from when I was a freshman in high school. My sister was away for her senior year at boarding school (and she might have been home on break, I do not remember). I do know I was a freshman based on the apartment we were living in – if you can call it that. At the time, my mom was recovering from months in the hospital, and then months in a nursing home. We were broke, and somehow she had found a way to go back to school. Due to her classes, we were eligible for a small apartment (600 square feet), that was government subsidized. While I have no reason to complain, it was drab, drab, drab. The walls were made of cinder blocks, and most of the windows were high up (since we were on the first level due to my mom’s wheelchair).

I digress. The real intent of this story is that one day when I was making dinner for my mom, I opened the broiler drawer at the bottom of the stove. (Now let me assure you, we rarely used the boiler aspect of the oven. As it was, it was not a full size stove/oven. As Chris can attest I have never been great at cooking so I can only imagine what I was making for my mom in the broiler.) Yikes. What I saw looking back at me was not at all what I expected. It was a hamster, wood shavings and all. I freaked out, shut the door, and to this day I cannot remember what we did. Did I call the management company? Did I call a neighbor that had more confidence with critters than I did at 15? I think I did call the neighbor that had a ferret (who also irked me).

My sister’s mouse reminded me of the hamster that had been living in our stove. We believe it might have been from a neighboring apartment and been living in the walls. It makes you think a bit more about those scratching sounds you might have heard in the walls the other night…

I was reading a book recently, where the character reminded me of my dad.

After my parents got divorced my dad moved from a bad house to an even worse house. At one time he was even living in a barn. I saw his space. He slept on a cot, and had his clothes in milk crates. There was another place that he would never take me too. I never understood why. Now looking back I see it was his pride. In many ways I am glad he never showed me. I am a visual person and it would be imprinted in my thoughts. I still remember how strange it was to see my dad inside the barn stall. His friend let him stay there when he had no where else to go.

dad’s home away from home

At the time he lived in Indiana, and it was the early 90’s. I cannot imagine rent was that expensive, and yet he did not have the money. I remember one house he lived in, had mice. Yes, many homes have mice, but these you would hear crawling through the walls, and they loved the kitchen. You would find their droppings in cupboards, on the counter, and on the floor. I am sure my dad hated it, but many times he did not have a choice. I know what he would tell me today. He would say: “I have a roof over my head, and food on the table and that is all that matters.”

As I type this I am crying. I wish he had a better life. If he were still alive today, maybe he would have figured some things out and found that house that he could call a home, with no mice, windows that let in the light, a dresser for his clothes, and a place to park his beloved truck. I wish I had understood back then how hard it must have been for him. To have to leave the home you have, walk away from seeing your family each night, and start out new. I wish his life had been different. I will never know what his life might have turned out like, but I can keep living and working to make mine better.

Love you, Dad.