The howl of the wind, the sway of the van, the….crinkle of the chip bag? It is 4 AM on a rather crisp Wyoming morning. I grab my trusty headlamp and begin to periodically spotlight a ledge near the sound, and there it is. A terrifying — and terrifyingly cute — mouse in the campervan.
Knife in hand, I creep out of bed and realize mid step two things: 1) Mice are fast and 2) Sarah will not be happy when the mouse turns out to be, well, as quick as they are known to be and I slash our nicely painted ledge. I am very proud of the latter thought. This type of forethought is uncommon when my manstincts kick in.
Is there one? Are there twenty?
At the moment, every movement in the van sounds like a mouse. Every phantom feeling on our body — a mouse. We are under siege.
Perhaps that’s why we are having coffee before 5 AM — we are definitely not early risers — contemplating its, or their, demise.
Death to all who enter Dot, our campervan, uninvited! (Cue Game of Thrones music.)
To be continued….Eek! There’s a Mouse in the Campervan (Part 2) now up!