Rodents!

Last week I wrote about books, and how I LOVE books. Today I want to write about something I HATE, and a story that it brings back.

Besides ants, mosquitoes, cockroaches, and snakes, among other things, if there's one thing I HATE to find in my house it's any kind of rodent. I'll never forget the time we had a bad infestation of mice in our house in Guatemala, circa 1993. We had been in the U.S. for a summer visit, and upon returning, discovered that the house had been overrun with mice. The smell alone was disgusting! The bedspreads were damp with evidence that the rodents were camping out above the ceiling, and what they thought was their outhouse must have been directly over our bed.

The worst part was that all the towels had been chewed on or abused in some way, so that I couldn't even take a shower and get the nasty "unclean" feeling off my body until I could wash all the linens. Even then I was essentially creeped out for a long time. The worst part was that we couldn't actually find the mice. We just heard them partying between the roof and the ceiling. Finally we put out poison and traps and hoped for the best.

About that time, we were visited by one of my college Spanish professors, Janet Norden, who was in Guatemala on sabbatical. I picked her up in Guatemala City and drove her out to Xela, our town, where she was going to live with a Guatemalan family and attend Spanish school. I brought her to our house first, and attempted to be a gracious hostess by serving her tea. She followed me into the kitchen, where she happened to witness a gruesome scene involving a poisoned mouse. Just as I was putting the kettle on the stove and lighting the gas, a mouse came struggling up the back of the oven, gasping for breath, and plopped down onto the stovetop, half-dead. Lying there on its back, legs flailing, it would have been either sad or comical if I hadn't been so grossed out and embarrassed. What to do?

Stupid me, I hoped maybe Mrs. Norden hadn't seen the mouse, so I turned my back, attempting to cover the stove, and then proceeded to lead her back into the living room. She said to me, "You're not going to just leave it there?!" And I said sheepishly, "Well, maybe..." I'll never forget the resolute look on her face as she grabbed a pair of hot dog tongs, plucked up that suffering mouse, marched to my back door and flung it out into the corn field across from my house. Such a brave woman. She is my hero. I'd like to think I've grown up and could do the same task now if the situation demanded it. I'm not sure, though.

People think missionaries are invincible. Some are. This one is still a wimp in some ways. All week I've been freaking out over tiny ants that come in through the window, climb down the wall and onto my bed. In the night I feel them crawling on me, and all I can think about is the time a scorpion got in the bed and stung me several times before we could find or kill it. Yep, I'm a wimp all right.

After reading this to Jon E., I was asked if we ever found the rest of the mice. Yes, in fact, we did. One horrible day I happened to look in a basket in the kitchen where I stored extra towels, napkins, and paper towels. Inside was a nest of baby mice. Did I "do away" with them? Not likely. In fact, most assuredly Jim got that job along with most other gross jobs that have ever needed doing. He killed my scorpion, too.

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