A Pesty in the Westy

So, one night in the darkness of the Utah desert Mike asked 'Are you awake?'. I must have been somewhere just on the other side of consciousness as my reply was 'I'm just coming to'.

He said 'You are gnashing your teeth really badly'. Instant dread. Behaviours are hard enough to change when you are conscious of them, but how would I possibly change a habit I'd developed in my sleep?? He had been lying there in the dark listening to the sound for some time and was thinking, 'Is she really that stressed out?'.

We lay there with our respective thoughts. Then, CRUUUNCH. Chomp, chomp, chomp. So it wasn't me grinding my teeth. We were not alone. There was a mouse in the house and it was feasting on what sounded like dog biscuits!

We moved the box with the biscuits up to a higher shelf and settled back in. Silence. Silence. Silence. CRUUUNCH. Chomp, chomp, chomp. I shined the flashlight toward the box to catch a glimpse of the fat, grey intruder as he waddled away.

Strands of a thread on the Samba about mice infestations gave us reason for concern. We moved the box to the luggage rack on the top of the van, passing it out the front pop top window and hatched a plan.

First thing in the morning we'd buy a mouse trap (or two!) and set them the next night. (So sorry to my furry-creature loving friends...I draw the line at a rodent in my living space.) And that's what we did. Bought two traps and set one out that night after a long day's drive.

But the following morning the trap was not sprung and we can only guess that our passenger got off somewhere along the way as we have not heard from him nor seen any evidence of his presence since.

And, Chettie's reputation as a guard dog is now in question.