Buddhism is not for the faint of heart, weak of soul, or short of tongue. Meditating without drooling is grueling.

As a Buddhist, I sometimes often constantly perpetually-even-in-my-sleep have to make some challenging difficult impossible unspeakable (because I don’t talk in my sleep, although I have been told I moan sometimes) decisions.

Perhaps some examples will help you understand. Or maybe just writing better sentences will help.

When I see/hear something/someone that I feel/think is wrong/hurtful, I’m stumped/stuck between chiding/reminding myself about being nonjudgmental and wanting to intervene/correct the situation/cluster fudge pie maker. The only clear thing to do is stop using all those slashes while trying to explain Buddhist principles to you. Buddhism is both simple and complex enough, and slashes are kind of aggressive for such a pacifist practice.

Lorna. Tut, tut. You’re an editor. You know better than to slash your way through a sentence.  

So, anyway, back to my new mouse pad, Buddhism, and decisions. I bet you can’t wait to see how I tie all of those things together!

Let’s see if you can do better than I could.

About a month ago, I noticed something new in my car: mouse turds.

Yup. I had uninvited, nocturnal passengers in my Toyota Prius. And they were not the courteous, tidy passengers who:

*asked if they could eat in my car (or eat my car).

*alerted me that they had to use a restroom outside the car.

*minded if they (not me) invited their entire entourage to go for joy rides or just colonize my car.

A major precept of Buddhism is to “do no harm.” It’s not that we’re all physicians or anything, but we respect life in all forms, thus my conundrum.

I’m pretty sure they are neither physicians nor Buddhists, but they’re harmless. What point was I trying to make? 

A Google search on humane ways to shoo away mice yielded all sorts of interesting options:

*Make sure there is nothing in the area attracting the mice. Hmmm. Should I get a less attractive car filled with cats? Nah. I made sure the car was devoid of all Fozzie treats and Lorna treats. The next day, several reusable grocery bags were no longer usable.

*Mice hate the smell of peppermint. I soaked multiple cotton pads with peppermint essential oil and placed them both inside and around my car. Both the garage and my car smelled like candy canes. Industrial strength candy canes. This approach worked to keep me away from my car, but not the mice who apparently did not read the Google sites about how they are supposed to hate peppermint.

I love YouTube, don’t you? Surfing the Net is the best! What? Mice hate peppermint? Totally fake news.

*Sonic sound waves are supposed to drive the buggers bonkers. The thought of them in distress gave me pause, but I knew that they could easily solve their discomfort by getting the hell out of my car, garage, and life. Not so much. Fozzie was irritated. But maybe that was because I was irritated by spending the money on the Mouse Boom Box. I’m sure they were dancing and pooping on my dime.

Come on! How can you sit still when “All in a Mouse’s Night” by Genesis is playing on the fancy sonic boom box?

*Seal off all (yeah, right) possible entry points, knowing that mice can squeeze through a space the size of my dime (or smaller) they were dancing on. For that, I needed help. In my world, help is spelled P.H.I.L.I.P. He spent an afternoon spelunking in my car and did what he could.

But (and this is a gigantic but), he isn’t Buddhist. He’s a former Marine. He went all “this is war” on those mice. Before I knew it, he was at Home Depot buying all manner of traps (not the Have-a-Heart kind). He was out for some mouse patootie.

And I thought he spent all those extra hours “at work” actually doing work.

So far, the little buggers have alluded the jaws of death. But Philip also blocked the major passageway into my Prius: the cabin air vent on the passenger side. Another quick Google search, and he found out that the eco-friendly Prius is notorious for mice infestation. They use some combination of soy in their wire coverings and the air vent provides a virtual Red Carpet for the critters.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Toyota Prius: Where OUR dreams come true!

So, Human Me, who doesn’t want the plague or dastardly diseases that I can’t pronounce and would probably be misspelled in my obituary, is hoping that Philip whipped/conquered the Mighty Mouse Brigade. Buddhist Me, however, hopes that the Mighty Mouse Brigade will pack up and find a nice piece of property by a stream and just relax.

In the meantime, my Prius is a freaking mouse pad.

And this, my Peeps, is how you tie everything up at the end!

Do you have any mouse tales you’d like to get off your chest?