Mice

So I've officially had mice in my car twice. (No rhyme intended). The first time I parked by the haystack, and a pregnant mouse moved in and had babies. They were field mice, you know, the kind that have tiger tails and fuzzy ears, and they're really tiny. It was summer, and one hot day they huddled in a mass and died in the hot car. The only reason I did not clean them out earlier was because I thought the squeaking had to be my breaks or my steering wheel because the car would squeak every time I put on my breaks or turned.

This time, another mouse must have smelled that my car had previously been a great home for mice. The sun was glaring in my eyes, and I opened up my glove box only to discover a nest. The mouse had shredded the napkins that I keep in the car to check my oil. I never found the rodent, but my car is now extremely disinfected. That mouse was really freaking me out because for a day at work, I didn't know where it was, and I could imagine it crawling into my shoe. My foot would then fall asleep and play a mind game on me that there was a mouse shivering in my boot to keep warm.