There is something in the car. It scurries around the boxes underneath our bed platform. I can hear it thump and scrabble its way on top of hollow plastic boxes and scratch at the material that I hope is holding up. I imagine it tearing at the bed rug to make a nest and defecating in corners that we won’t discover until months later.

I’m not sure how it got in. Probably the numerous times I slammed the truck shell hatch closed after my driver left it open out of convenience didn’t help. Perhaps it’s just so scrappy that it wormed its way through the small holes where the shell meets the tail. All I know is that there is something in here with us and I’ll be damned if I let it stay in here much longer.

I crawl out of bed and open the truck hatch. If I’m right, our house guest is in the far back of the bed. I’ll have to remove everything below the bed to reveal the stowaway. Fortunately, there is a picnic table nearby.

“What are you doing?” asks a groggy voice from the bed. “There’s something in the truck” I declare and continue to empty the bed. Incoherent grumbles follow as I methodically remove each box. They form a constant background noise until, in staccato tones, I hear “There!” I look up to see a little mouse scurry to the edge of the truck bed and eye it’s next move. I aid the little rodents decision making with a shoe: gently brushing it to the forest floor and nudging it in a direction away from our truck and the picnic table of boxes that I now need to reload.

Well, I guess the day as started. Where to next?

It was a mouse
It was a mouse

Lexi lives in a truck camper down by the river.

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