The Unexpected Christmas Guest

This is a story about Toiletta and how she showed me the true meaning of Christmas.

As in most mornings, I was the first to arrive at my office today. Unlock the door, turn on the light, close the door after making sure the lock is disengaged and trudge down the hall to my office. Click on the light, drop my bag on the floor, coffee and keys on desk, slip off my coat and hang on the doorknob.

Down the hall, unlock the back door and stop into the bathroom. Ewwww. There's something in the toilet.

A closer inspection proved it to be a wee little mouse. Jeez oh man. How did it get in there? It was towards the front of the bowl, rear half in the water, looking up at me with it's little onyx eyes, probably praying the "oh shit" prayer.

"Well little buddy", I mumbled while looking dumfounded into the toilet. "What should we do here?"

I found a good size box, and a steno pad. Using the pad in a scoop like way, I stuck it in the water, planning to get the little guy onto it and plop it into the box.

The little guy was not down with my plan, but after forcing the issue, and a few laps around the bowl, it was in the box. I folded the top together and brought it into my office, put it by the heater with the steno pad on top of it where that little crack was between the top flaps.

Chuckling, I returned to the bathroom to do my original business, grateful that I didn't flush prior to using the toilet the first time.

I decided that this mouse was going to be my office pet. I was going to run to WalMart and get a little cage for it. My coworkers looked carefully and told me they believed it to be a girlmouse. If it had been a boymouse I would have called him 'John'. As a girlmouse, she needed to be christened 'Toiletta'. She was pretty quiet.

After awhile, I decided against going to WalMart on Christmas Eve. Unlike my cherished friend who's name starts with Foo, I choose NOT to be tortured on Christmas Eve. I thought I would just bring her home and find something fool-proof for her to stay in, until I found something made for the purpose of keeping a little mouse safe.

Toiletta made the trip home safely, even with many stops before I pulled into the driveway. I brought her in last and put her on the dining room table, one little dish of water and one of a good healthy cereal.

And promptly forgot her.

Paul and I watched an episode of Jericho and I came upstairs. I looked at the box on the table as I went by, and what did I see. Toiletta. Sitting on top of it.

That box is almost twelve inches high. I thought the risk of keeping her in it might be her chewing her way out, not jumping. Like a little kangaroo. What the hell.

She found her way quickly onto the table, onto the chair, onto the floor and under the heater, where the holes for the pipes are. And disappeared.

Paul took it fairly gracefully, getting gloves and a flashlight, not listening to me when I quietly said, "she's not there". Poor little toiletta. She's like in a different country. She's a city mouse, not a country mouse.

Toiletta is a little mouse who probably spent half the night in the toilet. And from there, unceremoniously popped into a box, and bounced around in a Ford Ranger for an hour, listening to the Oldies. She probably doesn't realize how lucky she is to be in the country, the fresh air and all. Or how close she came to travelling the city infrastructure. Is that how our lives are? If we were to look at them that way? Will she text her mouse buds to tell them of her string of bad luck? When in fact, she's had a string of GOOD luck? Do we miss gifts that way too?

Or maybe El Nino is the subject of this story, the one who received the gift.

Hmmmm.

Peace to you all, and enjoy your gifts.