<p>When I opened the door to my car, I knew something was not right. I could smell it. Literally. My first thought was that a mouse had been in the car. My second thought was that the suspected mouse had died in there. Hmm. What to do?</p>
<p>I have found evidence of mice in my car before. A paper napkin that I had forgotten to remove had been chewed to tiny pieces. One time, I noticed the rubber nose rests on my sunglasses appeared to have been gnawed upon. This time the evidence was not so visual, but a mouse visitation seemed to be a logical conclusion. Still, I was open to other explanations. I was hoping for them, as a matter of fact.</p>
<p>I told myself it could be the lingering reek of the recent visit of our grand-dog. I put Wrigley in the backseat to accompany me when she was here during spring break. But that was a few weeks ago, so it wouldn’t make sense that I am just now noticing this unpleasant odor. Maybe I am smelling the cloth grocery totes I keep in the car. Isn’t it possible that vegetable produce might leave a noticeable funk on the bags? Both ideas were worth exploring.</p>
<p>I collected cans of upholstery cleaners and disinfectants and set to work vigorously scrubbing the seats. I took out the floor mats, dusted them with carpet freshener and then vacuumed. I did the same thing to the floorboard carpets. Afterwards I filled the car cabin with fresh air spray. Meanwhile the grocery bags were machine-washed. The next day I opened the car door with hopeful anticipation. Ugh. No noticeable change.</p>
<p>I began a thorough flashlight search of the car. I looked under the seats. I lifted the backseat and vacuumed underneath. I removed the floor of the hatchback, took the spare tire out of the well and peered into every possible nook where a mouse might hide. I opened the hood and scanned every inch of the engine area that I could easily access. Alas, no mouse.</p>
<p>It had probably made its way into a small air vent or other internal space that would require a professional auto mechanic and the accompanying labor costs to find.</p>
<p>During this ongoing ordeal we took Becky’s car when possible. However, situations arose which required both cars, so I made a few trips immersed in the miasma of the mystery mouse. I put a dish of baking soda in the backseat. I kept the windows open as much as possible. After a few days I convinced myself that either the smell was gradually going away, or I was simply getting used to it. On one longer drive, two thoughts occurred to me.</p>
<p>The first was a term I think I first learned while reading about art history. Memento Mori is translated as “Remember! You must die,” and was used by some medieval Christians to remind themselves that life is transitory and therefore one should focus on the immortality of the soul and the future life to come. Paintings which include images of skulls, hourglasses or extinguished candles would be examples of this concept. “Maybe I should understand this smell as such a reminder,” I thought.</p>
<p>The second thought was a memory of a mouse skeleton we once found in an attic storage area. It looked to have died mid-crawl as it was trying to escape from the bag in which it was trapped. As I drove, I was imagining someone—maybe an auto mechanic—someday discovering a tiny mouse skeleton in my car. Wouldn’t that be a surprise?</p>
<p>Thankfully, the smell seems to have dissipated at this point. I appreciate that the mouse may have been sent as a message that I should remember my mortality. I also appreciate that because of the invisible mouse, I cleaned the inside of my car.</p>
