Generational Mouse Problems

In almost all cases, when my grandmother was around people, she was the queen bee.     She was beautiful and socially charming and just meangirl enough to keep all the other women in line. However, as with any queen bee, there were exceptions to this. A couple of Gran's friends always got her to do whatever they wanted.  Quite often, this led to some odd moments for her.

In my grandmother's circle of friends, everyone became widows within a few years of each other. Suddenly they found themselves, instead of traveling in packs of several couples, a group of single women. From what I understand, many of their childhood patterns resumed, even some of their childhood habits. One of these habits led to possibly the most interesting night of my grandmother's life as an old lady.  It also proved that my rodent issue is a generational one.

When my grandparents moved to the town where I'm currently living, they didn't change churches as it's less than half an hour's drive away. Whenever the church would have social gatherings at night, like dinners or special singing programs, one of my grandmother's friends and fellow church-goer, would very generously offer to let Gran spend the night so she didn't have to drive home in the dark.

Gran never liked doing this. For one thing, she hated leaving the house empty overnight. She also tended to sleep better in her own bed.  The main reason she didn't want to stay with her friend, however, had to do with a couple of situations that can happen when one grows older. You see, my grandmother's friend's hearing was very, very bad and therefore, she couldn't hear the mice that infested her house.

As much as Gran didn't want to stay with her friend, as I said before, in this case, she was not the queen bee. In almost all cases, when her friend asked her to do something, she would. Grudgingly, of course, but she still did it.  Her status in the relationship also made her shy about explaining to her friend about the mice. I never got this part.  In fact, we had the conversation many times.

Actually, we had a lot of conversations many times. I get that repeating myself thing from her.

One night, after an evening of church festivities, Gran found herself, once again, sleeping in the home of her friend. The evening had been eventful (or as eventful as Southern Baptist dinners can be) so she was tired and soon fast asleep.  This didn't last long.  Around three in the morning, something startled her awake.  Something that was skittering along the top of her blanket.

Gran sat straight up and pulled her knees close to her body.  Normally, this is the proper reaction and the best way to keep one's self safe. Unfortunately in this case, drawing up her knees lifted her bedmate with it and she found herself eye to eye with the mouse sitting on her knees, separated from her skin only by two blankets and a sheet.

This is where we must pause to note my grandmother is clearly a braver woman than me. If I woke up and found a mouse in my bed, I would die. Heart failure. Fright. Both. They would find me with my mouth open in horror, my hair shocked white from the terror of being that close to a damned mouse.

All of this was running through my head when my grandmother was telling me the story the next day after returning to the safety of her own home.

"What did you DO?" I asked. I'm sure my voice was full of something close to hysteria.

She just shrugged. "Sat real still. Hoped it go away."

"What? Like if it was a bear?"

"Well what was I supposed to do? Finally it ran off and I moved to the couch. Didn't take the blanket though."

"No, the blanket needed to be burned. It touched MOUSE!" After that, I soothed my  damaged mind by imaging the purifying bliss of burning all blankets that mice had ever touched. Mice pee constantly, you know. Anything they touch is icky.

Seeing a mouse on the bed did change some things about the situation. Gran knew her politeness might be putting her friend at risk.  Gran spoke to their preacher and he found a way to tactfully talk to Gran's friend about the mouse problem. Soon after, one of her sons moved in with her and things got safer and less rodentfied.

In the most miraculous turn of events, at least to my mind, my grandmother was able to sleep after this.  She didn't become obsessed with waking up to see mice staring at her. I may have had a few nights of panic about that, but as she's not an irrational crazy person with musophobia, I guess that wasn't a problem.

Not that I know anyone like that . . . .