THE TALE OF THE MOUSE WHO LOVED CERTS

THE TALE OF THE LITTLE BROWN MOUSE WHO LOVED CERTS

It is dark and all is quiet in the neighborhood. Somewhere in a dark corner the phantom lurks, waiting for that perfect moment when he can come out and again occupy the cozy little nest he has made for himself. This time a pleasant surprise awaits him.

* * *

Singing along with Bryan Adams, I cruise down south of LaJolla, enjoying the surreal disappearing light of the magic hour along the beach. I reach for the glove compartment, turn the latch and the little door opens. I grope for a pack of Certs that I habitually keep in there, but I feel none. I take my eyes off the road and peer inside the compartment. I see chewed-up cellophane wrappers. "What the—." Immediately, my little MR-2 swerves. Honk! Honk! I recover control of my car and quickly return inside my lane. I wave at the honker in apology.

I reach home and immediately check the glove compartment. I pick up the wrappers and examine the serrated edges. Yes, someone has been in my car last night and ate all six rolls of Certs. I shudder at the thought and run inside my house. I call Mike, my next door neighbor and friend. He assures me that no prowler or burglar would invade my privacy just to sit in my car and eat all my Certs. It has to be a small animal. "And right now," Mike says, "he’s probably suffering from a bad case of indigestion. But at least, he’s got the freshest breath in the area."

Mike comes over and inspects the scene of the crime. "Whoa!" he exclaims. "Look here." From underneath a brown envelope he pulls out what looks like a nest—a rectangular bed made of pillow stuffing I store in the garage. "This is absolutely amazing. Your friend has made a comfortable nest in your glove compartment." He empties the compartment and inspects the back. I see a gap. "He must come up the tire to the engine and crawl in through this opening. "I’m sure it’s a field mouse, or a chipmunk. Anything larger is not going to fit through that slit."

"How can a little mouse eat so much Certs in one night?"

Mike advises me to put a mousetrap in the compartment: I don’t believe in this cruel method, not to mention that it’s messy. I’m also not sure the culprit is a mouse. I have to be certain. I go to my kitchen for a pack of Certs, and put it in the cup holder in my car. (Yes, I keep a supply in my cupboard.)

The next day, the pack is gone, and all that’s left is a mess of chewed-up wrapper. Instinctively, I look around the garage in search of the Certs snatcher. But all’s quiet in the garage. What if it’s inside my car, or in the back seat? I look back, down the floor, under the seats. All clear. This is ridiculous, I murmur. The mouse is not going to be able to open the glove compartment and get inside my car. Or can he? There’s only one way to find out. I leave a pack in the ashtray and close the lid. In the morning, I slowly open the lid of the ashtray, ready to close it quickly if I see a mouse inside. No mouse. And no Certs!

This is mind-boggling. How can a little mouse lift the lid? And wait a minute. If he was inside my car, how did he get out? I can’t see any opening elsewhere. Could he still be in the car? What if it’s …a snake? A chill runs down my spine.

A few days pass. While driving I think of a snake hiding somewhere in my car. I imagine it slithering out from underneath the carpet or the seats. My eyes roll from side to side, up and down. Paranoia!

One night, I see something move behind the shelves in the garage. A mouse? Yes. He disappears and reappears, scampering back and forth behind the cans as I chase it with a broom. Suddenly, he’s exposed—in full view—frozen. The Certs Invader--petrified as can be! So tiny, so helpless, and so cute. He looks hungry. After all, I haven’t left any Certs in the car for days. Should I offer him some cheese? Peanut butter? Certs?

My cell phone rings. The mouse runs. Three hours later, I’m reading in the sofa when I see a mouse scamper across the room. Oh no! How am I going to be able to sleep tonight knowing I’ve got an intruder in the house? I call Mike. He volunteers to buy some traps. "But I don’t want to kill it," I say. "Are there traps that don’t kill?"

He laughs. "I’ll see what they’ve got at Wallgreens."

Later, he comes back with two sticky boards. No metal gadgets that would savagely decapitate the mouse. He sets the traps in two strategic places. "There," he says. "No chance of blood and stiff corpses here."

By morning, to my horror, I see the mouse on the sticky board, squirming. I hear his pitiful whimper. How awful! I call my neighbor and he comes rushing. He takes a long look at the mouse.

"Did you smell his breath to see if he’s the one?" he jests.

"You're funny," I said.

"I guess the Certs is over now, huh?" Mike says laughing, amused with his own pun.

"Pretty punny, " I said, but I don’t smile. "Please go ahead and set him free. The guy’s suffering."

Mike picks up the board and walks out the deck. He is about to toss the board out into the woods when I stop him. "Wait! Why don’t you remove him from the board first?"

He gives me a strange look. "And how do you propose I do that?"

"I don’t know. Grab him by the tail, I guess."

"I don’t think so," he says and delivers a revelation. "You really thought we could pry him off this thing without killing him?"

I am shocked and appalled. "You mean he’s going to die?" He nods. "But I thought it’s less inhumane to use these sticky things? The mouse is going to suffer a slow death. That’s even more cruel"

Mike doesn’t respond. He shakes his head and throws the mouse on the trap into the woods. I close my eyes and sigh.

I put a pack of Certs in the glove compartment of my car.

After several days, the Certs is still there.