This is Not a Children's Book; If You Give a Mouse a Lift
There's a mouse in my car.

I've had mice show up in my home before - when you live in farm country and you live in a 120 year old house, that'll happen. There are ways to take care of that problem.

But in the car? I don't know how to deal with that.

Remember the incident with the enormous spider I discovered had made a very large and noticeable web between the passenger seat's headrest and the windshield, and how I didn't notice this or the huge spider resting in the web until I'd driven about fifteen miles toward work? And how completely rattled I was by that?

This was worse.

I was actually at the White Castle drive-thru window, getting my daily morning coffee (WC has the best fast-food coffee EVAR) when I detected movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and spotted a little grey field mouse sitting there on the little ledge formed by the door panel where the door transitions to the back seat's side window.

I flipped the switch, lowering the window, thinking the mouse would be grateful for this opportunity to hop out of the vehicle and into the safety of White Castle's neatly-swept parking lot.

Unfortunately, this abrubt movement by the window - and, likely, the associated noise and vibration - scared the little bugger, and he jumped up onto the upholstered shelf behind the back seat.

At this point, the gentleman manning the drive thru was holding out my change to me, and I have no idea how long he was standing that way, money extended out to me. Did he see me freaking out? Did he see the mouse? No way to tell. When I turned around again to check things out, the mouse was gone.

I pulled into a parking spot, opened all the doors, checked under the seat. Nothing. I found an old pair of gardening gloves under the seat, and used that to probe around a little more. Still nothing.

In the glove box, I found - along with a few dozen sugar packets from previous visits to White Castle for coffee - evidence of a tiny mammalian presence. There was shredded paper and a few now-empty sugar packets.

All the way to work (a 30-mile ride) I could see that little fella running back and forth across that shelf in the rear window. If he made a move as if he were coming toward me, or going anywhere other than that rearmost place, I flung something back there at him.

When I got to work he had again disappeared somewhere. I checked on the car at lunch, but see no evidence of this stowaway.

I fear for my drive home. I'm sorta jumpy by nature, and the last thing I need is a field mouse hopped up on granulated sugar running around inside my freeway-speed Nissan.