Toot-Toot-Tootsie, Good-Bye. Watch out for the predator!

Well..it happened again. In that epic war of man vs mouse, woman has once again intervened. I walked into my darkened classroom moments before it would be bombarded by twenty 4th graders to glimpse a small shadow float across the floor. It's just my imagination, I tried to convince myself, unwilling to launch myself into the chaotic drama that inevitably accompanies the arrival of a small rodent. I stared at the ceiling, praying that that baby mouse had the sense God gave him to immediately hide. Flight or fight, baby. C'mon. But no. This little guy was a people-person. People-mouse.

Students were now slowly trickling in. As casually as I could, I grabbed the metal lid of our candy jar and gently set it over our little guy as he attempted to raise up on his hind-legs and deliver Hamlet's soliloquy. It was not meant to be. "Rachel," I asked gently, "Could you please gently place your foot on top of our lid?" I scurried off to grab a paper plate. "Andrew, dump the candy out of our jar, please." The kids were surprisingly calm, curious as to what their normally loud and obnoxious teacher was  quietly hiding under that lid. Tools of transfer in place, I delivered a quick lesson on empathy. "There is a baby mouse underneath the lid," I announced solemnly, eliciting gasps. Hands covered mouths in shock. "How does our baby mouse feel right now?" "Scared," they whispered. We discussed the importance of staying silent and limiting our movements. I explained the transfer procedure. No one in the room, including Mrs. Mosiman and the mouse, believed it would actually work. It did. Our baby mouse was safely confined in our glass candy jar. "Let's name it, Tootsie," Charlotte squealed, noting the stuck-on Tootsie-Roll at the bottom of the jar.

I used our science vocabulary to shield me from the pleas of "Can we keep him?" "Where is this mouse's natural habitat?" I asked. We eliminated the playground and the sports fields as release areas. Mrs. Mosiman nixed the plan of traipsing miles out to release our little guy on the Nature Trail. We had a place value assessment to complete. We settled on the small copse of trees by the middle school. As quiet as mice (NOT), we set off on our animal release adventure. Another science vocabulary word was implemented as Ethan spotted a large bird flying overhead. "That's a predator, Mrs. Mosiman!" More begging ensued. We pointed the open jar toward the trees. Tootsie stepped out, took a long look around ("Look UP, Tootsie," Ethan whispered.) and then high-tailed it BACK toward the school. Students screamed. I screamed at students. We surrounded Tootsie like Conestoga wagons trying to turn our stampeding mouse in the right direction. Tootsie finally disappeared into the tall weeds and we returned to our room to discover that it was now to late to take our math exam. "This is the best day EVER," Amanda exclaimed. We cleaned our candy jar and called it a day.

Later on though, the head of maintenance came in. "I heard you had a mouse, Mrs. Mosiman," he said. I looked at him suspiciously. This could NOT be good. "Maybe..." I hedged, wheels turning as I wondered who had ratted me out. "I have a sticky trap," Todd told me. "We're more of a catch-and-release room," I told him. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Oh...me too," he agreed, promising that he planned to catch and release any mouse that wandered into his diabolical trap. I shared with him the educational components that accompanied a visit from one of God's little creatures. I expounded upon the rich and relevant vocabulary that we were able to use in an authentic setting. "I have another rich and relevant vocabulary word for you, Mrs. Mosiman," he said, setting the trap in an inconspicuous  corner. "Infestation."