Their Mysterious Ways
SOME FOLKS ARE DOG LOVERS. Others are cat people. I have a soft spot for mice-all because of an unforgettable experience my grandfather had in his twenties. He worked the night shift in a Michigan Ford factory signing out heavy tools, stored on huge shelves, from the tool room. Each night, when things were quiet, Grandfather would sit in his chair and eat the supper Grandma had packed for him.
One night he saw a mouse peeking out of a hole in the wall across the room, about 10 feet away. He must be hungry, Grandfather thought, tossing over a small piece of bread. The mouse grabbed it and scurried back into the hole. The next night, remembering the little creature, Grandfather threw a bit of bread toward the hole. Sure enough, the mouse emerged, snatched the bread and hurried back into the hole.
This continued night after night. The mouse grew more courageous. Soon he was nibbling on the bread out in the open instead of running for safety.
Weeks later, Grandfather went through the same routine. He sat in his chair, tore off a piece of bread and pitched it toward the hole, looking forward to seeing his furry friend. A few minutes passed. No mouse. Grandfather got up from his chair, walked over to the hole and bent down to peek inside. At that very moment a massive tool shelf collapsed, crushing his chair.
Stunned, Grandfather plopped down on the floor next to the hole. He looked across the room at his shattered chair.
"My friend saved my life," he always told me at this point in the story. Grandfather believed-as do I- that the little creature was placed there for a reason. He never saw the mouse again.