SLICE OF LIFE

Lori Borgman finds the funny in everyday life, writing from the heartland of the US. Now, if she could just find her car keys…

What does Lori Borgman do when she comes face to face with a critter?

When the temperatures drop and food sources for small wildlife grow sparse, some of them consider exchanging a burrow in the wild for paradise in suburbia.

They get to thinking, ‘Maybe a climatecontrolled life wouldn’t be so bad. An ice-maker sounds like a rather pleasant convenience.’

We saw such a mouse casing the house not long ago. We have a dense stand of trees and tall grasses nearby, so these sorts of sightings aren’t unexpected.

Some people use little boxes of pellets to deter the critters, but mice only use those as sport. The bait disappears and you think the critters are gone. Then you discover small pellets under your rain boots, behind a leaf rake or arranged in letters by the backdoor spelling ‘GOTCHA!’ We mean business, so we set traps. I was in the garage when the little red wagon mysteriously began moving with staccato jerks along the concrete floor. I was stunned. Then the back side of a small furry animal whizzed by in a blur.

I did what any grown and educated woman would do. I ran into the house and bolted the door. My heart was beating wildly, like contestants in those singing competitions. One is selected as a finalist and she goes on about how her heart is about to beat out of her chest. That was me. Only I wasn’t singing.

I was intimidated by a small woodland critter a fraction of my height and weight. And, I might add, a critter with a much smaller brain than mine, too.

What was I doing barricaded inside the house while the small furry thing now had full run of the garage? He was probably out there setting up folding tables and inviting friends to join him.

It’s distressing to think you’re made of one thing and find out you’re made of quite another. To my credit, I’ve kept a straight face and dry eyes and stood resolute when one kid broke an arm then fully dislocated a kneecap and another was wheeled away for open-heart surgery. Yet here I was letting a featherweight furry thing get the best of me. It is often the little things at the core of our undoing.

I mustered my courage and left my post at the door. I ran to find the husband.

He was considerably less alarmed than I was. We strode to the garage to conquer and claim what was ours. He took the lead and I followed close behind. About 10 to 15 feet behind.

We work well together in a crisis. I direct and he ignores me.

I moved the wagon with a shovel as per his instructions while he stood poised with a broom. He fished out a chipmunk dragging the mouse trap behind him.

The husband set the chipmunk’s hindquarters free and told him never to come back.

The chipmunk scurried away, but left a little something behind – a tail to remember.

The small furry thing had full run of the garage. He was probably out there setting up folding tables and inviting friends to join him.