August 17, 2015

I reunited with a dear friend this past weekend, both of us at a Christian gathering in NY along with a few hundred others. Typically the tone is one of respectful sobriety, but between services we do chat and visit. She mentioned the MouseHouse stories and said she really looked forward to them and when did I plan to write more. While we sat there giggling about some of the antics of that beloved clan, she commented with her lovable, hearty laugh, “Marji, I’m not sure if you’re touched or just creative.”

Well, dear Jan, a little of both, I suspect. And as we spoke, there atop the speaker system beside the podium, and a fair distance from where we sat, I noticed a little gray-brown blur scurry behind the wires as someone approached. Sure that my eyes deceived me, and it was merely the fact that we’d been discussing these dear little creatures, I didn’t call attention to it of course. And well, you never know how some folks will react to seeing a mouse, even one as well-behaved as members of MouseHouse clan, but I have to admit I was puzzled.

From that distance I couldn’t be sure it was any I knew, and being a farm area where we were, there was bound to be cousins and distant relatives of my beloved friends, but no, it couldn’t be any from MouseHouse.

I glanced again. Sure enough, a jaunty cap, then two beady black eyes peeked out from between the wires. Coast was clear, so he climbed up the rest of the way, looking around, quite worriedly. The little plaid cap and matching vest over his very best pair of blue knickers was a dead give-away. Yup. Sir Fivel alright. He saw more people approaching, and quickly ducked back down again.

Now Jan had to hurry on to see some other friends, so we said our goodbyes before I casually walked up to the front of the room, nearer said-speaker.
“Sir Fivel?” I whispered. “It’s me, Mama Hare… how ever did you get up here, so far from home?”

Now mind you, if anyone had come along at that moment, and noticed me talking to the back of a speaker, up there at the podium where no one belonged but the folks who’d be leading the next service, well, I’m quite sure there’d be some deep concerns for my sanity! Thankfully, no one was nearby except a worried mouse gentleman who was mighty glad to see me.

“Ma’am! Oh dear-dear! I’ve been searching and searching for you, but I didn’t know where you might be. I’m in terrible trouble. You see, I was…” Suddenly his eyes looked past me and with panic evident in his glance, he disappeared behind the speaker again.

Another of my dear friends was approaching.Seeing me standing up there at the front, all alone, or so she thought, she came to say hello. So we embraced and chatted awhile, though I have to say I was somewhat distracted knowing my little friend, Sir Fivel was in such jeopardy.

People were starting to trickle back in to find their seats, and soon the room would be chock full and the next service would begin. There was nothing for me to do but go to my own seat as well.

It was during prayer that I felt something brush by the side of my foot ever so softly. Opening my eyes to investigate, I just saw the backside of those tell-tale blue knickers, along with a long pink tail, disappearing into my tote-bag.

Smart thinking! I smiled to myself. Scurry between the many pairs of feet when most folks had their eyes shut in prayer! He must’ve noted, from behind his perch, exactly where I went to sit down, and then found his way there, darting between shoes and other tote bags until he got to row 7 where I was seated.

While the service continued, I peeked now-and-then inside the tote-bag and there, tucked into my tissue pack was a weary, just plum-tuckered-out gray-brown mouse gentleman. He’d hung his cap neatly on the inside zipper-pull, then wrapped himself tightly into the tissue folds and promptly went to sleep. His whiskers twitched now and then, but his eyes were tightly closed and I thought, at one point, that I heard just the tiniest snort. Hey... we all snore sometimes! And he wasn't at all obstrusive.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the motel, tote-bag and all, so I could hear the story as to how he got from MouseHouse Village in CT to Albany NY! Now this ought to be a good one…

To be continued…