A Very Expensive Mouse.

ROLCAM · Posted: Mon Oct 15, 2007 12:52 am Post subject: A Very Expensive Mouse.

A Very Expensive Mouse.
By
Roger Dean Kiser

With coffee in hand, I walked into my small home office so I could begin answering some of the many e-mails I generally receive each morning. I was surprised to see that the mouse on my computer was not functioning correctly. No matter what I tried, nothing seemed to correct the problem. Putting on my hat, I walked to my truck and headed out to the local office supply stores to purchase another mouse. After arriving, I began to look at the various types and was rather surprised at the price differences, some ranging upwards of $64.00.

‘Only an idiot would pay 64.00 for a darned mouse,’ I thought to myself.

After purchasing a nice looking mouse for $14.95, I headed back home. Little did I know that that was going to be a very small price to pay.

Less than an hour later I was sitting in my office when I heard my wife scream. Jumping up, I ran into the living room to see what had happened. There she stood, motionless, one hand over her mouth and the other pointing at the bottom of the refrigerator. When I looked, a small mouse was sitting there eating a small crust of bread.

“Get it out of here!” She screamed.

“Knock, knock, knock” came a sound from the front door.

“You see who that is and I’ll take care of this,” I told her.

Slowly, and very carefully, I moved toward the broom located in the corner. Grabbing the handle, I raised it above my head, and with all my might I slammed the broom toward the floor. Missing the mouse, it scurried into another corner of the kitchen.

“I wanna see the little mousey,” screamed Madison, our four year old granddaughter, as she ran toward me.

“You stay back. These things can be very dangerous if they bite you,” I warned her.

Again, I raised the broom and took another swipe, once again missing.

“Please don’t kill it Papa,” yelled little Madi.

“You stay back little lady,” I warned her again.

“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don’t’ kill it,” she begged.

Slowly, I lowered the broom and looked at her quivering little face.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked my wife.

“Can we catch it and take it out where we go camping?” Madison asked.

“That’s over an hour away, almost sixty miles,” I blurted out.

“Please Papa. Don’t kill it,” she continued to beg.

Sitting the broom down in the corner, I walked into the bedroom where I picked up a clear plastic file container. Stacking the folders on the bed, I returned to the kitchen. Placing the medium size container down on the floor, I once again picked up the broom and made a jab at the small mouse. Sure enough, it ran into the plastic box. Quickly, I up-righted the container and slammed on the lid.

Within minutes, the mouse, Madsion and I were in the truck and heading down the freeway, towards the Blythe Island Campground.

“Thank you Papa for not killing that little mousey.”

I just smiled and winked.

Noticing I was almost out of gas, I pulled off the freeway and into a convenience store where I purchased eleven gallons of gas, two orange juices and a small bag of potato chips, costing $29.57. Then back onto the freeway we headed. Twenty six miles later we pulled into the campground and came to a stop by the large lake. Picking up the container, Madison and I walked to the lake’s edge. Making her stand back, I removed the lid and watched as the small mouse hurried, quickly into the tall bushes.

The smile on my granddaughter’s face was worth a million dollars.

Surprisingly, the mouse came back out of the tall bush and stood up on its hind legs.

“What’s mouses’s eat Papa?

“Cheese, I think.”

“Can we give him some cheese?”

“We don’t have any cheese.”

“Then what’s he gonna eat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Papa, he’ll die without no right kind of food.”

“There’s no place to get cheese around here,” I told her.

“There’s cheese at that store where we stopped back down the road.”

“I’m not driving all the way back to that store.”

Once again her face began to quiver and her eyes began to water.

“Get in the truck.”

All at once she broke into full tears.

“In the truck,” I said, very sternly, as I pointed at toward the vehicle.

Not a word was said between us as we traveled down the freeway. Out of the corner of my eye I continued to see tears slowly running down her cheek. As I approached the exit where we had previously gassed up, I decided to pull off and purchase a little more gas, before returning home.

Would you like another orange juice?” I asked her.

She shook her head “yes,” but said not a word.

You go get two more juices,” I told her.

I began talking with the female cashier as I waited for Madison. Feeling her tug at my shirt I looked down. In her arms were two orange juices and six cheese and cracker packs.

With a sigh of disgust, I took the merchandise and placed it on the counter.

“That will be $33.34,” advised the clerk.

Pulling out my credit card, I paid the charge. I was now into this little venture $63.00.

We returned to the campground but we could not find the small mouse. We scattered the crackers on the ground about the bush.

“Thank you for being good and kind Papa,” said Madi, as we walked back to the truck.

“Sometimes it is you who make me want to be good and kind,” I told her.

“Maybe when we come camping next year we’ll see him again. Maybe that mouse will grown up to be a great big rat. Big like a dog.”

“YEA!”

As we returned home, we passed by the Staples Office Supply Store. I remember thinking, ‘Only a darned idiot would pay 64.00 for a darned mouse.’

True stories from “The Life and Times of Roger Dean Kiser, author, child advocate.

http://www.geocities.com/trampolineone/survive/srv080.htm
_________________
Roland Camilleri

Moderator

Sydney , Australia.