Mouse Attack

My 75-year-old Uncle Jon and I were running late for a meeting. As we sped along the freeway. I noticed several partially-eaten mints on the floor of his car.

“Dieting?” I asked as I pointed to the scattered remains.

“No, I think a mouse got in here,” he replied, “I’m pretty sure it’s gone now.”

I was taking in the scenery, when from the corner of my eye I saw something dart past my foot.

I watched for a bit and, sure enough, saw it again. It was a mouse alright - a fat, brown field-mouse.

I didn’t say anything except, “Maybe you shouldn’t leave any food in here for awhile.”

Several miles passed quietly before I saw the flash of brown fur again, this time at Jon’s feet! I was about to sound the alert when the mouse darted up into his pant leg.

Jon bounced a little in his seat, and his eyes widened, before he began stomping his foot in an effort to shake the critter free. Of course the harder he stomped the more hysterically the mouse scratched and clawed to hold on.

I was laughing as Jon, now dancing in his seat, frantically stomped his foot. A passing carload of teenagers flashed big smiles and give the elderly Jon a thumbs-up, which made me laugh even harder.

Jon now grasped his pant leg with one hand as he tried to stem the rodent’s ascent. The mouse, having other thoughts on the matter, amplified its frantic efforts to scale his leg.

I was laughing to the point of tears, until Jon’s stomping began to alternately threaten to mash either the gas pedal or the brake.

Sensing the danger, but unable to stop my laughter and the tears that were now rolling down my cheeks, I gasped, “Pull Over! Pull Over!”

He managed to bring us to a safe stop before spryly leaping out of the car, kicking and writhing toward the back of the vehicle. I watched as he unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants with one hand, still gripping his pant leg with the other, and dancing a jig that would make a Scotsman blush.

His gyrations became even more jauntily erratic when his trousers dropped to his knees. I continued to watch until he disappeared around the back of the car and, though my lungs felt ready to explode from laughter, I hauled myself out of the car - not wanting to miss the rest of the show.

My tears were thick as I struggled to make out the form that now sat alongside the road behind us… but there was no mistaking the flash of blue and red lights.

Thankfully, as Jon flailed madly at the side of the freeway, the mouse ejected from the top of his pants and scampered off into some tall grass - all in plain view of the state trooper.

It was becoming apparent that we were going to be late for our meeting when Jon, now fully dressed and seated behind the wheel of his car, asked the trooper if we would be much longer.

Not appreciating the humor that I was so thoroughly enjoying, Uncle Jon was even less amused when the trooper replied, “Keep your pants on; I’ll be back in a minute.”