Last night was eventful for us; the cold weather blessed us with a house guest of small stature. He was not invited (mind you), but I noticed a small dark object race down beside the baseboard of one of our rooms and I went to investigate. A large roach? A lizard? Something else?

Another movement by our guest (intended to give him/her greater cover) exposed his tiny identity more clearly: a small grey mouse. To prove his racing prowess he darted across the middle of the floor right by my feet then tucked himself in the corner under a desk. The beam from my iPhone light revealed his small, quaking frame.

My youngest daughter, and my wife and I, quickly went into action, Googling, discussing, and commiserating about the best way to handle our speed demon visitor. This was not our proverbial “first rodeo” but, then again, none of our previous rodeos lasted a mere 8 seconds, and the cheering crowd at the successful conclusion of our “rides” was small (to say the least).

Orkin sticky traps were employed, initially to no avail. An old traditional wooden mouse trap was resurrected from the garage, loaded with aged Vermont white cheddar was placed along the wall. Then we exited, awaiting the deadly SNAP that would spell our success.

“But Mouse, you are not alone, in proving foresight may be vain: the best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew, and leaves us nothing but grief and pain, for promised joy!” (Excerpt from “To A Mouse” by Robert Burns)

But no snap was heard. And after checking on several occasions I feared our unwelcome guest had outwitted us. Either that or . . . like me he was the one mouse in a thousand who hated cheese, one offended by such rodent sterotypes. Then my daughter noticed that one of our sticky traps had been relocated. Hmmm. Upon further examination we found that the repositioned trap had done its work: the tiny creature was indeed stuck.

A cardboard box was procured, Special Forces tactics were employed (if we shared these “we would have to kill you,” as they say) and voila: the capture was complete. We took our small friend outside and were immediately eyed by a neighbor’s cat.

Robert Burns added this: “Now you are turned out, for all your trouble, without house or holding, to endure the winter’s sleety dribble, and hoar-frost cold.” He failed to mention the neighbor’s cat, but . . . poets can’t cover ALL eventualities.

Burns concludes: “Still you are blest, compared with me! The present only touches you: But oh! I backward cast my eye, on prospects dreary! And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear!”

Profound. And true, of course; in 1785 when penned as well as now. But hopefully it doesn’t depict the whole truth. We all have our bouts with fear and uncertainty and dreariness. But unlike our tiny friend and our extraction of him from our house, the rodeo we call “Life” is a ride like no other: one that involves pain and disappointment . . . but also one that brings joy and love and fullness.

When we cornered the small mouse (at one point behind a plastic box fan), I watched as his tiny ears cocked this way and that as I tapped on the wall, and as we spoke regarding our strategy. May we, too, be always aware of our surroundings, directing our ears to detect the sounds of our lives, ever alert to the movements of those around us, and remembering to “live” each moment.

”The best laid schemes” and plans of our lives WILL change; of that there is little doubt. But we need not dread, we need not cower in fear, we need not tremble in the face of changes. Rather, we choose to LIVE!