Good Neighbors

Sitting up proudly under our glittering tree, he looked right at me with his poppy seed eyes. He had a little gray pot belly, round ears atop his head, and a slinky tail wrapped around his tiny pink feet. An adorable mouse in the house just like in a children’s book!

I wasn’t the only one who witnessed what seemed like a magical moment. Rob quickly swooped in on him with a broom. He smashed and shuffled our tiny uninvited guest down the hall and out through the back door.

A couple of other children’s books meshed in my head during the brief Christmas morning encounter. We were renting at the time. Our fellow renters had gone over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house, leaving behind a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Well, they must have. Why else would he have tried to make himself a gift under our tree? And he almost made it. But we didn’t know his backstory. Rob wisely pointed out that you can’t just adopt any mouse. Even if he came via Santa.

Besides, we found out he had a rather large family. They had a home. The neighbor’s home. We decided to keep the mouse family fed until they returned. Christmas cheese and crackers seemed appropriate. We set up the little feast on the neighbor’s side of the back porch after brushing away some of the snow. After their meal, they scurried to the basement dwelling where they lived, warm and contented, I imagined.

We had every intention of letting our fellow renters know about their basement guests. But I honestly couldn’t believe they were unaware of them. Further, no one in that family ever spoke to us. Before we moved in, our side of the duplex was occupied by three college girls. Obviously, they were preferred over us. So, we decided if they spoke to us, we’d tell them of our Christmas encounter. If not, the mice would keep their delightful home. We moved before the next Christmas rolled around. Our good neighbors, the mice, were still there.