New insurance cards came, and one goes in my wallet – the other goes in the glove compartment. I open the door and there is a rounded mound of white material, shredded and crumpled in the left hand corner of the space. A mouse house! A mouse house in my car? Close the glove compartment door quickly! I double checked it was really closed and then thought about evacuating the vehicle. Alarms were going off, sirens, “This is not a test!” Okay, maybe that was only happening in my head, but it was perfectly real there, believe me. Every time my pant leg would move across my foot on my drive to work I would squirm. Eww!!!! There is a mouse house in my car, what do I do now? Needless to say, the mouse house (a pile of shredded napkins) fluffed and arranged was removed via fireplace tongs, thick gloves, a trash bag, and morale support from the dogs.
I didn’t, and don’t like the thought of a mouse in my car, unless it sings and dances or cooks. But, it had to be taken care of. Sometimes there are mouse houses in our lives, the metaphorical kind. Those have to be taken care of too. It may require gloves and fireplace tongs, and trashbags – but needs to be removed. It may be a poor habit or choices or lack thereof. Sometimes there are mouse houses, and well – they just have to go!