Mice strike fear into some people
Somehow we got into a conversation about small rodents that seem to be able to invade our comfortably warm homes by squeezing through the tiniest of openings (or entering through a door left open). A co-worker started the discussion by recounting how a mole got into her home and how it disturbed her. Seems her kids had left the garage door open and that allowed the critter to gain entry. To hear her tell it, the beast from 1,000 fathoms, all fangs and slime, slithered into her home prepared to make a meal of every human being there and in a 100-mile radius.
Well, I suppose to some people, terror comes in all shapes and sizes. But it’s difficult to understand how a creature as tiny as a+well+er+mouse+can create such mayhem.
Yes, I’m familiar with the tales of how elephants, those huge African and Asian pachyderms, can be stampeded at the mere whiff of a mouse. I grew up on cartoons that many times depicted some poor housewife shrieking and leaping onto a kitchen table while the house cat (either Tom or Sylvester) chased away the nasty rodent. Those are stories. Come on now – afraid of a mouse or a mole?
Having lived in houses that were at times the next best thing to a mouse resort I learned a long time ago that I am much, much larger than those furry little animals. If there’s any terror to be struck, I’m the one doing the striking.
I recall one winter in particular when it seemed as if every tiny gray furry creature in the neighborhood decided to move in with us. I bought about a half dozen humane mouse traps – the kind that catch them alive (I don’t like to kill things). I counted a couple of dozen mice that I nabbed and released during those cold months (although a friend suggested it was probably no more than a couple of mice, or maybe the same one, who just kept coming right back in after I released them unharmed outside).
One of my favorite pastimes in that former house was laying on the living room floor. I assumed this position to watch TV and a number of times found it so inviting to roll over to catch a quick nap.
On one rather nasty winter evening I was in my usual spot, on my side, resting my head on my arm, eyes closed, when I felt a very tiny clawing at the bare skin of my forearm.
Opening my eyes I looked directly into two small black dots surrounded by gray fur, whiskers and a couple of radar-antenna-like ears. It was a mouse, stretched up on its hind quarters, leaning on my arm with its two front feet, peering at me, I suppose, to see just what this mountain-like impediment was in its path.
Did I leap into the air? Was I frozen by fear? Did I pass out in panic?
“Well, hello there,” I said. And the mouse turned and ran away.
It was probably the size of a couple of cotton balls and posed about as much threat to my safety as a puff of cool air on a hot day. I’ve had more damage done to me by a flu bug.
I related that tale to my co-worker and watched as she squirmed and shuddered.
In her defense, I suppose everyone has a phobia or fear of some kind of animal. Personally, I don’t care much for snakes, frogs and other members of the reptilian clan. But if I see one I’m not about to collapse. And I have an aversion to yellow jackets and wasps, only because I am mildly allergic to their stings and if they get me I tend to swell up.
So what am I really afraid of? What makes me shudder and shiver? Just what is it that can turn me into a sniveling mountain of quivering flesh?
Well, you don’t think I’d tell anyone, do you? Would you reveal that secret about yourself?
OK, OK. I’ll give you a hint: I’ll carry the fact that I broke that favorite dish to my grave. Or for the benefit of my lovely wife, the dog did it.
Have a good day.
James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com
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