Katie called me today with some disturbing news.
“Murph,” she said. “You know how before I left you warned me about that tick you found on your dashboard today?”
“Yeah,” I responded, recalling the large eight-legged blood-sucker skittering around my volume control, nearing digging into my skin like a mole. “The parasite was big too. I nearly crashed into an old woman and half-a-dozen parked cars before I could kill it.”
“Right, well I got off the interstate a moment ago when I felt something crawl along my feet,” Katie told me dramatically. “I was like ‘Oh my gosh! A spider! I got a friggin’ wolf-spider in my car. It’s going to bite me and I’m going to die.’ Guess what it was?”
“I don’t know . . . a tick?” Frankly I find ticks to be much more frightening than spiders . . . well at least the normal spiders we have around here, which are nowhere near as big as some of the South American varieties. Those monsters kill birds. Have you ever seen a spider take down a crow? If so, I highly recommend the Delmarva area.
“No! A mouse!” she nearly screamed over the phone. “A mouse. In. My. Car. And then when I got to BJs to meet Mom, there was another one in the passenger seat, munching on something. Sitting on its hind legs like it owned the joint. Murph, my car is infested with mice . . . Stop laughing!”
“Sorry,” I say wiping the tears from my eyes. “Just be careful on the way home though. Mice sometimes can chew through wires and stuff. I don’t know much about your car, but I’m sure some of that must control your brakes, accelerator or your radio, right?”
“Oh thanks, Murph,” Katie sighed. In the background Mom asks her which brand of trash bags we need. Kate repeats the question to me. I tell her the largest brand they sell with handles. “ . . . yeah, the ones with the blue handles there. Yeah, those. Well, you know whose to blame, right?”
“Sean, didn’t necessarily bring the mice in your car, girl.”
“But he’s been driving it for the last few weeks, leaving me with no gas and a backseat full of empty drinks and McDonalds trash. Mouse treats. I probably have an ant problem too. Army ants with my luck. Or snakes. Ugh, snakes . . . I’m going to kill him.”
“Well, they would get rid of your mouse problem . . .”
“Uh, thanks but no thanks. I’ll take my chances with Mickey and Minnie . . .”