Eek! Mouse alert! Iím sure at some point in most of our lives we have either heard this phrase in a television or movie cartoon or read it in the funny papers. Perhaps you may even have had an actual real life ěeekî experience.
I grew up in an older wood framed house with peephole foundation coverage and no insulation. Therefore, from time to time, my family would indeed encounter ěeekî moments. The little wooden traps purchased from O.O. Ruftyís general store had little springs with latches on them, as well as a prong to hold the bait. I remember pinching many fingers while loading tidbits of cheese or raw peanuts. Some of the more educated mice would figure out how to gulp up the goodie without springing the lever. Others, unfortunately (for them), met their Waterloo with a quick snap.
In 2003 I began my second career as an in-home caregiver. My first patient was a sweet lady in her sixties who I will call ěWilma.î I was told that Wilma had a condition similar to Parkinsonís disease, which was progressing rather quickly. She had relocated from Stanly County to the home of a male friend/companion who lived just outside Salisburyís city limits. Her husband had died many years earlier and her only close relative, a niece, had taken advantage of her illness dilemma and coaxed her to sell or give to her most of her possessions, including several real estate properties. After these transactions were completed, the niece refused to help care for Wilma.
This is where ěFredî stepped in. He packed her personal items along with a few pieces of furniture and promised to care for her as best he could. After a time, Fred needed some help, as Wilmaís condition began requiring more attention than he could give. He hired me for eight hours a day, five days a week to attend her personal needs. She was wheelchair-bound and could do very little for herself. She loved watching ěFamily Feudî and old westerns on television and laughed about everything. This was an uncontrollable aspect of her condition. I tried to laugh with her when it was a funny laugh and comfort her when it wasnít.
Most days, weather permitting, Fred would work in his garden or on projects in the barn, grocery shop or most importantly, go fishing with his best friend, ěBarney.î In addition to my caregiver chores, I offered to help with the laundry, prepare meals and tidy up the house.
Now Fredís farmhouse was quite old, and I had noticed several homemade birdhouse-shaped boxes placed in some of the rooms. I didnít ask any questions. Fred was a retired military man, and conversation with him was usually short, and, well…short. One day, as I was preparing for Wilmaís bath, I entered a bedroom to get some clean clothes from her chest of drawers. I pulled open the second drawer and faced a huge surprise. Propped up on his hindquarters and looking very smug was a character with big ears, a long tail and beady eyes. I didnít ěeekî because it wasnít a mouse. It was a rat! And he wouldnít budge. He was nowhere near a Mickey, even if heíd been wearing red shorts and suspenders. Actually, he was more like a Mighty, if he had had on a cape.
I left the drawer open, returned to Wilma and told her that her bath was being delayed. When I explained why, she laughed so hard it almost scared me. Later on, Fred told me that this booger was called a wood rat. He would trap them in the ěbirdhouseî boxes, then take them outside and drown them. I was amazed at how these were ordinary occurrences for them.
Wilmaís health soon worsened and required more assistance than Fred and I could provide. She was placed in a nursing home, where she remained until her death. I visited her often, and on her birthday searched everywhere to find a balloon with a mouse on it. She couldnít speak or laugh anymore, but she looked up at me, grinned and squeezed my hand.
Now Fred has joined his sweetheart Wilma. I miss them both. It was a pleasure to be of service to them and I thank the Lord every day for such special friends!
Margaret Shumate lives in Salisbury.