The Mouse

The door screeched open, protesting the sudden movement.  Peering into the dusty, sad excuse for an apartment, we could see the wreckage from the last companions that had stayed there.  Wrappers, broken bits of plates and a lot of mismatched socks were strewn all over the dirty, unkempt floor. Steeping in, my companion and I couldn’t help laugh at the seemly impossible task ahead of us. The floor screamed with every step we took. Our feet carefully avoided the debris surrounding us as we shuffled toward the doorway that leads to our bedroom. We carried our baggage high above the floor, so that it wouldn’t touch the nasty floor.  Then we heard the most dreaded thing any missionaries could hear, the squeak of a mouse. Almost comically simulations, my companion and I turned toward the sound. Staring at a hole in the misshapen wall, we saw two beady eyes staring us down, daring us to make a move. Dropping our bags we just stared, not wanting to give up the high ground. Without warning, my companion rushes at the wall with a fury that surprised even me. His yells of anger ricocheted off the walls as he barreled toward the hole. With a great crash he slammed into the wall creating a man sized dent and scaring off the mouse. Turning to me, he gave a bull like grunt and stormed off into the room. I held in a snicker as I followed after him, both of us leaving our buttered suitcases behind.