Mice, Memories, and the Things We Forget

“Hey, Shannon! Can you open the door for me?”

I looked up to see my dad lugging the duct-taped, battered box which held our family’s ancient artificial Christmas tree—the same one we’ve used ever since I can remember. Together, we wrestled it into the house and plopped it on the floor. He opened the lid, and a puff of dust escaped as I reached in to pull out one of the branches.
That’s when I saw it. Or rather, them.

A small, dark shape scurried across the box, and before I could react, another shot out like a tiny furry firework.

“Dad! Did you just see—”

More shapes darted out of the box, scattering across the room. Mice. Real, live mice. They’d apparently decided our tree box was prime real estate, and now they were making a grand escape, leaving me squealing and hopping onto the couch.

“Not exactly what I’d call Christmas magic,” Dad muttered, stepping back as the first mouse darted under the couch.

It was chaos—tiny mice scrambling under furniture, me squealing like I’d seen a ghost, and Dad assessing the situation like it was a tactical operation. That’s when Wes walked in.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, eyebrows raised. Then he spotted the mice. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

“They’re kind of…cute?” I stammered. “Maybe if we named them-”

“Cute?” Wes shot me a look. “Nope. Not cute. They’re disease-carrying freeloaders who’ll chew the wires, burn the house down, and bankrupt us before New Year’s. Okay, maybe not that last part—but they definitely can’t stay.”

“Fine!” I threw my hands up. “But please don’t use those awful sticky traps. They’re cruel!”

Wes nodded, disappearing out the door. About an hour later, he returned, looking very pleased with himself, carrying what he dramatically dubbed “The Mouse Motel.”

“Behold!” he declared, holding up the little humane traps like he’d just won a prize. “They check in, but they don’t stay. We relocate them, no harm done. Everyone wins!” He said it with the seriousness of someone presenting a Shark Tank pitch. I couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Wes to solve a rodent invasion with equal parts humor and practicality.

In hindsight, it’s a funny story, but it also got me thinking about how things sneak into our lives when we’re not paying attention. That tree had been sitting in the shed for years, neglected and forgotten—long enough for a mouse family to move in, hang curtains, and make themselves cozy. And isn’t that how life works sometimes? The things we ignore don’t stay as we left them. They gather dust, grow weeds, or, in this case, start scurrying across the living room floor.

Turns out, ignoring your problems doesn’t work—unless you’re a mouse, in which case it works brilliantly... until Wes shows up with a Mouse Motel and a mission.

This Christmas, I’m taking a closer look at what I’ve left unattended—friendships gathering dust, habits I’ve let slide, or dreams boxed up for “later.” Life, like that old tree, needs tending. When we neglect what matters, it doesn’t stay the same; it changes, and not always for the better. That tree wasn’t just a holiday tradition—it was a vivid reminder of how easily neglect can turn something cherished into a critter condo.

And next year, you can bet I’ll double-check the decorations before bringing them inside! Lesson learned.