Friday, January 22, 2010

(Courtesy of Flickr)

I have never been what anyone would call a Dude Magnet. (Wait a second, does anyone call anyone a Dude Magnet?) Here's what I will say: Small, woodland creatures find me positively irresistible.

You don't believe me?

Well, not every common farmgirl can say that she has risen from a mid-day nap only to find a mouse resting on her clavicle.

It happened several years ago, in my childhood bedroom. We were home for Christmas and I found myself in need of a moment of solitude and rest.

Buried under a pile of blankets (no heat upstairs), I happily drifted off...

Only I kept having that annoying dream/reality that a fly was brushing against my face. It didn't make sense to my quasi-aware self because... it was December.

The dream/reality continued up until the smack-dab moment that my beady, brown eyes snapped open and locked with the beady, brown peepers of a wee, grey mouse. He darted down the length of the bed and returned from whence he came.

Yes, I shrieked.

There was really no other option, even for a non-shrieker such as myself.

I woke the neighborhood (i.e. my sleeping nephew).

It was, the whole experience. I had survived 15 years of my life in that very room without so much as a rodent wave. At least, not that I was ever aware of... And I worried about it, I did. Each time, my Dad would scoff at my ridiculocity (yep) and give me that tired line, "Those mice are more afraid of you than you are of them."

Mmmm hmmm.

I don't believe that I'll ever fully comprehend the invisible force that draws nocturnal furries to me in broad daylight. I wish I could say this incident was the first and only, but that just wouldn't be the truth.

Moral of the story: Mice can climb sheets.