Eldercare specialist and emerging blogger Emily George has a knack for the quirky true story that contains many things, in this case, errant mice, tap dance, caregiving, and motherhood.
I. Carol
That day I arrived at Carol’s house a little early because she had to be at a physical therapy appointment. I help Carol out every weekday morning. First, I remind her to take her pills; most days, I remind her three times because she is easily distracted. We go for walks and do her exercise program because she would never initiate either on her own. I help her with organization and make sure her bills don’t get lost and do get paid. We talk, have coffee, and laugh; Carol is an eccentric, fun, lovable lady. She has a magnificent outlook on life even though she is in some pain every single day. Carol’s stature was shortened over time because of kyphosis, which is often called a dowager’s hump. It has a negative effect on Carol’s ability to perform daily tasks easily. Her back, chest, and neck ache throughout the day. She has trouble lifting her head because of it; but when she does, you can see her beautiful smile and intriguing gray and brown eyes. Those eyes sparkle when she laughs. Carol’s laugh actually reminds me of a witch’s cackle, in a good way, and her smile can light up a room. I saw that smile shortly after I arrived.
“I have a little mouse friend, and he is a boy!” Carol chirped as I came to the door. “He slept near my chair all night long! I left some peanut butter and bread on the floor, in case he’s hungry.”
Poor Carol, I’d suspected she was probably a little lonely living on her own, but this new friendship threw me. Her daughter would not be pleased to know a mouse was crashing here, no doubt pooping all over the place.
It was already time to leave for the appointment; and of course, she wasn’t ready. I quickly got to work hunting for her bag, glasses, and phone. These items were always scattered all over the house. I remembered seeing her glasses on the table next to her chair, so I walked into the den to find them. On the table right in the middle of her drink coaster was her mouse friend. You know the type: Tiny and brown with big ears and beady eyes; he was not startled by me, but I was startled by him.
“Um…Carol…I found your mouse friend!” I said hesitantly.
She eagerly came down to see him. It was the best I’ve seen her walk without a cane in a long time. Did I mention I was searching for her cane, too? We stood and watched while the mouse jumped from the table to the chair. He climbed to the top of the chair back and leapt to a high cabinet. From there, he hopped up and clawed onto a picture frame hanging on the wall.
“Look at him go!” she cheered, fascinated by his gymnastics; she was thoroughly enjoying the show.
The mouse shimmied to the top of the frame. Then there was nowhere left to run. He jumped; but this time, he plummeted to the floor.
Carol joked (at least I think it was a joke), “While we are out, we should get him a parachute!”
“We may have to resort to Amazon for that one,” I said. Carol laughed. She realizes on a daily basis that her memory is slipping. It bothers her, but she has a positive attitude. She is very grateful for the supportive people in her life. We all wonder how long she can remain in the house she loves.
At this point, we really had to get going. I grabbed Carol’s glasses off the table, and we headed for the door. When we got into the car, Carol complained of a headache, so I told her I would run back inside and get her pain medicine. We were definitely going to be late. So be it.
I walked into the den and scanned the room. There was the mouse on top of the heating vent which was right in front of the sliding glass doors. I ran into the kitchen and found a plastic container. I tiptoed back into the den; moving slowly, then I took the plastic container and placed it over the mouse. I pulled the mat that lay in front of the sliding glass door and carefully slid the mouse and the container on top.
“Holy crap,” I whispered.
I opened the slider, threw everything out onto the deck, and watched the mouse scurry down the deck steps.
“I did it!” I cheered to myself.
I quickly grabbed the mat and the container, brought them back into the house, locked the slider, grabbed the container of pain pills, headed out to the car, and off we drove.
As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, Carol said, “I can’t wait to see my mouse friend later!”
“I’m sure he can’t wait to see you,” I said.
Eek!
II. Tap Dance
“Emily, I’ve got a bug, can you possibly help teach the girls’ tap class tonight?” Miss Victoria asked me over the phone. She sure sounded sick.
“Me?” I asked, stalling to think up an excuse. Like most moms, I have trouble saying no.
“The high school girls will instruct, but you can help the littlest girls,” she said. “You’ll be great.”
“Sure,” I heard myself say. How could I say no? This was Miss Victoria. She has been the director of the dance program for almost 40 years; she’s the head honcho!
I had been taking an adult tap from Miss Victoria for a couple of years and performed in the finale recital every year, so I felt pretty confident that I could at least assist. Plus, my own daughter was in the class, so I had to be at the school anyway.
My daughter Hailey and I arrived at the retro public-school cafeteria, not the ideal dance studio but good enough. The old wood floors gleamed as if they’d been waxed the day before. Right away, I met Miss Victoria’s two teenage assistants who were supposed to teach the class. They were young, clearly first-year assistants. Unsure what to say to the parents, the teens were sweet to the girls, giving each one a hug as they walked into class.
When it was time to begin, I looked at the assistants and asked, “Are you going to start teaching class?” They looked at me like I had five heads.
“Miss Victoria said you would be teaching!” They spoke in unison.
I took a deep breath and called all the 5- to 7-year-old girls to the floor.
“Okay, friends, we are going to get warmed up,” I said with a shaky voice. I called out, “Shuffle, tap, shuffle, tap.” Miraculously, they shuffled and tapped.
My eyes were drawn to the little girl smack dab in the middle of the class; she was standing right beside my daughter. Kenzie had white blonde hair, thick pink glasses, and pale sensitive skin, almost translucent skin, if I’m being honest. Above her glowing form, I happened to notice that one of the tiles in the ceiling was missing a corner. It was the only tile in the entire cafeteria that had a hole.
The class was running so smoothly, all of the little tappers making cute music in the room. Kenzie beamed as she shuffled. My daughter enjoyed having me as her teacher and I was very relieved that I’d known just what to say.
I started to relax, and the teen assistants were following along standing on either side of me. I smiled and remembered why I love tap. That was the exact moment something fell out of the hole in the ceiling (the one I mentioned) and landed on Kenzie’s glowing shoulder. It slid down her arm and dropped to the floor. Immediately, Kenzie started to scratch at her arm which turned blood red in seconds.
“It’s a MOUSE!” my daughter screamed. “Mom, help!”
“Oh my God,” said one of the teens. “Disgusting! They totally spread bacteria!”
As the dancers started screaming and running in all directions, the mouse dodged every tap shoe and ran to safety in the vestibule, which is exactly where the girls put all their dance bags. Poor Kenzie was in tears.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Was I on camera?
“Girls, return to your spots,” I said calmly but loudly enough to be heard above the screams. Inside, of course, I was screaming too. They obeyed. I hugged Kenzie and told her she’d be fine. Her arm was now merely the color of a strawberry milkshake. “The mouse is in the vestibule,” I continued. “We will deal with the situation after class.”
Surprisingly, we were able to finish class.
I was pleased but dread filled my body as I accepted that I would now have to deal with the mouse.
“Molly,” I said to one teen assistant, “I am going to need your help with the mouse.
“No! I HATE mice.” Molly said with disgust. “I can’t help you. I am so sorry.”
I turned to the other assistant.
“Kelly, do you like mice?” I asked, laughing.
Kelly was willing to help me shake each girl’s bag before giving it to its owner. At one point, I picked up a sparkly pink bag, and the mouse leaped out. It ran around for a second and climbed into a red bag. Aha! Now, I knew its exact location, so I handed out the remaining bags.
“What do we do now?” asked Kelly.
“I have a plan,” I said, because if I could take over a tap class at the last-minute, I could evict a mouse from a cafeteria.
“What plan?!” both teens asked.
“Open the door to the outside courtyard,” I told Kelly calmly. She did, then ran off squealing.
I tossed the red bag out the door; I saw the mouse escape; I swiftly grabbed the red bag, brought it back inside, and slammed the door shut.
I walked into class with the red bag, and I saw Kenzie.
“That’s mine,” she said.
“Of course, it is,” I said.
Beside Kenzie was her equally pale mom, squinting in a state of confusion. Time to explain why Kenzie’s arm looked like it had briefly caught on fire.
Eek!
III. June
We moved into a severely neglected house during the summer of 2019. Even though the house was in total disarray, it was easy to see its potential. My favorite room is the front room; it has hardwood floors, a wood stove, and an enormous paned window overlooking the front lawn. Upon first sight, I could already envision tearing down an awkward wall, so the kitchen and dining room would open to this space. Adding a new wood stove with a glass front would make my morning coffee feel spiritual; and installing a picture window would allow me to view the wildlife already in action in our yard. I could imagine these changes, but I had to deal with reality at hand…the neglect. Because of the neglect, we inherited an alarming mouse problem. It would be important to shore up any areas on the exterior to prevent further infestation, and deep clean the entire house.
While my husband, Jason, and I began this dirty work, our two young daughters explored the neighborhood. They became fast friends with the family across the street, Paul and Katie and their daughters, Maddie and Maxine.
Our girls loved to play with Maddie and Maxine. It was summertime, so they played inside and outside from dawn to dusk. One day, while the girls were playing in the other family’s garage, my older daughter, June, spotted their mouse “snap” traps. Now, June loves all animals, including all rodents, so she was utterly disgusted that they had snap traps that would kill a precious little mouse.
June probably stomped her foot on the cement floor of the garage and shouted, “I’ll take care of this problem if it’s the last thing I do!”
She took it upon herself to set off every last mouse trap in their garage. Not that she told me.
Later that evening, Maddie clued her mom in on June’s quest.
Meanwhile, June came back to our house where Jason and I were busy tearing down the kitchen wall. There we discovered that mice were hiding pistachio shells.
“June, did you have fun playing with Maddie and Maxine?” I asked distractedly.
She responded with a single, extremely loud word, “Yes!”
A week went by. My husband and I were spending every waking minute doing renovations when I finally saw Katie at the mailbox.
“Hi, Katie!” I hollered.
“Boy, do I have a story for you,” she called, walking toward me.
As Katie talked, I pictured June in a burglar’s mask and cap, moving deftly and valiantly to un-spring each kill-trap, cackling mischievously.
“She’s dedicated,” added Katie, grinning.
Katie thought it was comical; I was mortified.
“Katie, I am so sorry,” I said.“I would love to say that I can’t believe June did this, but this is just the sort of thing she does all the time.”
“I’m with June,” she said, laughing. “I hate the snap traps. But I let Paul win on that one.”
“Well, I’m going to have June speak to both you and Paul. She needs to learn a lesson.”
I went home and asked June about the mousetrap incident.
“Yeah, I did it!” she boldly admitted. “I’d do it again!”
“June, you need to apologize to Katie and Paul the next time you see them. But just apologize, don’t get into the politics of killing mice–please?”
I showed her my serious face, the one that says “I will take away your phone.”
“Okay. I will,” June said softly.
“What you did, without even asking their permission, isn’t okay,” I said.
I could have stood there and lectured June all day, but it would have fallen on deaf ears. Instead, I took my anger out on our master bathroom; it needed to be demolished eventually. The aqua shower tile hurt my eyes; its mold from years of unvented moisture hurt my lungs.
The next time June went over to Katie’s, she asked if they could talk.
“Ms. Katie, my mom said I have to apologize to you and Paul,” she said. “Here I go…I am sorry I set off all your mouse traps. Even though I’m really not.”
June didn’t even take a breath before continuing on. “Do you know how cruel it is to kill innocent mice by snapping them in a trap?”
“Um. Confidentially, it’s all him,” Katie told her.
After they took a deep dive into their love of mice and their disgust for snap traps, June asked where she could find Paul so she could complete her mandatory apologizing, not that he would ever understand. Katie pointed her to the backdoor.
June walked slowly into the garage with her head down and found Paul.
June said softly, “Paul, can I talk to you?”
“Of course!” Paul said, knowing what was coming.
“I am really sorry for setting off all your snap traps,” June started.
Paul opened his mouth, but June wasn’t finished. She was about to throw Katie under the bus.
“Katie told me that you are the one who decided to set these snap traps in the garage!” June announced. “Even though your kind wife cares about all creatures!”
I would imagine he found himself at a loss for words.
“Snap traps are a cruel way to kill mice!” June went on (as reported by Katie, who was eavesdropping). “There are more humane ways to get rid of mice. You should be ashamed of yourself for setting these death traps!”
June stomped off and ran up their long driveway. Paul stood there in disbelief, until Katie stepped into the garage. I guess June told him.
This was all of five minutes ahead of her next phone call to me.
EEK!
Emily George is an occupational therapist, eldercare provider, writer, cook, and girl mom living in Baltimore County.
