A sad ending to a mouse tale

"Are you sure they're still in there," my husband asked doubtfully for the millionth time, peering into the plastic container that has worked as a temporary mouse house for just under two weeks. I sighed, sick of his daily interrogation. "Of course they're still in there." I ignored the rest of his rant about how I needed to set them free soon or SURELY they're going to get out. What a worrywart, I thought, When will he realize that I know what I'm doing? 

Brad finally left for work. I lifted the lid of my little mouse motel to toss in some seed. I observed the three toilet tissue rolls where my two guests spent the bulk of their time hiding and sleeping. Hmmmm. Like the magician revealing the ball from beneath the cups, I lifted the first tube to reveal...nothing. The second tube was also empty. Heart pounding, I reached for the third. Suddenly, I was diving head-first into the container, searching frantically for my mice. Where were they?!?  Where were they?!? And then I froze. How was I going to tell Brad?

Naturally, my first instinct was to lie. I occupied the better part of my ride to school by concocting elaborate fabrications. But what if Brad already knew? What if it was a set-up? As you can see, my marriage is a firm foundation of mutual trust and respect. Frantic, I brought the matter before a jury of my peers. "What do I do," I wailed, laying out my moral dilemma to my 4th graders. "Lie," came the general consensus (Which should cause us some concern, by the way) but one lone voice held firm. "You need to tell the truth, Mrs. Mosiman," said Tyler, "It's the right thing to do."

"You should have lied," my husband shouted, as I broke the news to him that evening. I remained silent...a rare occurrence. What could I say? I had no defense. For once in my life...I was wrong. I remained silent. It didn't help me much as my husband raged about the room. "I'm sorry," I inserted softly. "A lot of good that's going to do," he yelled. "In a couple of hours, you will have pretty much forgotten about this. Meanwhile, I will always be aware that you DELIBERATELY brought rodents into my house...in my walls...my cupboards. And the worst part is that you'd probably do it all over again if given the chance!" I sighed. What a worrywart. As he continued yelling at me, I focused my attention on the now empty container. How on earth did they get out of there, I wondered, imagining the most likely scenario:

Mouse 1 (hunkered down like a 1920s hobo, rubbing his little paws together over a hypothetical little fire): This is it, Lefty. You and me's bustin' outta here.

Mouse 2: Ya gotta plan, Stan?

Following an intricate blueprint and using the resources at hand (sorry...paw), the two McGyver mice manipulated the toilet tissue tubes-rolling one, barrel-style, to wedge in a corner and then heroically hefting the other two up, end-on-end, to reach the lid. Lefty, with herculean strength, strained his little mousie arms to lift the barrier for Stan to slip through before diving out himself, Indiana Jones-style.

"Are you listening to me," Brad shouted. I nodded. "You would, wouldn't you," he accused, still incensed. "What," I asked. "You'd do it all over again, wouldn't you?" I thought about Lefty and Stan and their glorious escape to freedom. Taking a breath, I braced myself...closed my eyes and nodded.