If you give a teacher a mouse...

As our music teacher would tell the tale, he walked in his classroom to spot a tiny mouse, crouching on its haunches, smiling at him. The educator walked up to the mouse, kneeled down to place his palm out so that the mouse could happily hop aboard. That, my friends, is obviously the Disney version of the story.

My version involves a moderate amount of shrieking, tackling, and flapping. Naturally, my mouse would appear in the middle of my Colonial American presentations when I had parents visiting. "Mrs. Mosiman! A mouse," a 4th grader squealed while I valiantly tried to ignore the gray form scurrying along the wall.
"You're seeing things," I assured the students until an adult squeaked, "No, there it is again!" The room was immediately thrown into Colonial chaos as I watched our furry friend disappear into a cupboard. "He's gone," I reassured the group, guiding us back to our goal of presenting our newly acquired knowledge of 18th century America. You can imagine how successful that was.

After things had calmed down, I ran a series of emergency mouse drills.

  If we see a mouse, we...

• don't scream
• don't jump on our chairs or desks...that is only done in cartoons
• freeze, silently, in place--you may point (not gesturing wildly) towards the mouse
• do not, under any circumstance, try to touch the mouse
• We then did an choral recitation which I, the teacher, led:
• TEACHER:  Should a student touch a mouse and get bitten, who gets fired?
• STUDENTS:  You do!!!
• TEACHER:  Should a student touch a mouse and get bitten, who gets fired?
•  STUDENTS:  You do!!!
• TEACHER:  Should a student touch a mouse and get bitten, who gets fired?
• STUDENTS:  You do!!!

As students were preparing to leave for music class, our preparations paid off. "The mouse," a student screamed, gesturing wildly as a horde of 4th graders stampeded over chairs and desks toward the alarmed rodent. I waded my way in, snagging students as I went, herding our uninvited guest toward a corner. "Go to music," I bellowed professionally. My friend and fellow fourth grade teacher, Kelly, ushered them off as my friend Rachel reluctantly arrived to help me. Her "help" presented mostly in the form of flapping her arms and asking, again and again, "Where is it?" Situated on the floor with my knees blocking each corner of the wall, I did not anticipate a scenario where I would have to answer Rachel's' question with, "Up my pant leg." Armed with a shoe box, Rachel danced behind me as I grabbed our guy, juggling him from hand to hand before dunking him, Harlem Globetrotter's-style, into the container. Nothin' but net! 

About the size of a golf ball, our new-found friend was rain-cloud gray and shivering.  And we were in love. We named him "Walt" and reunited him with his sibling who was already installed in an upscale condominium provided by a benevolent music teacher.  With record-breaking temperatures assailing our state, our planned release into the wild is at a stand-still. Stay tuned.