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really, dear…I’ve always hated mice and I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight knowing that it’s running around loose.”
    Hannah sighed. That was probably true. The sleeping mind could play all sorts of tricks. Her mother might dream that she was being chased by a giant rodent and really have a heart attack.
    â€œHold on and I’ll talk it over with Moishe,” Hannah said, unwilling to cave in too easily and encourage more requests for help from her mother. Coaxing Moishe into his traveling crate wasn’t easy, and listening to him complain as she drove to town wouldn’t be pleasant.
    â€œYou have to talk it over with a cat? For heaven’s sake, Hannah! You’re acting as if he’s your child!”
    â€œHe’s better than a child. Think about it, Mother. Moishe doesn’t ask for an allowance, he eats cold food straight out of the can, he toilet trained himself, and he’s never going to need money for college.”
    There was silence for a moment and then Delores started to laugh. There were times when her sense of humor won out over her oh-so-proper exterior. Hannah was grinning as she turned to her cat, who was sitting on the coffee table grooming his tail. “What do you say, Moishe? Are you in the mood to do a little mouse hunting for hire?”
    As she said the word mouse, Moishe’s ears tipped toward her, swiveling like miniature satellite dishes. Hannah turned back to the phone. “He’s definitely interested,” she reported.
    â€œThen you’ll come?”
    â€œOf course I’ll come,” Hannah said, wondering why out of three daughters, a son-in-law, and a whole phone book of friends, Delores always called her when there was a problem.
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    â€œWhy is he hissing like that?” Delores asked, leaning down to peer into the cat carrier. “Do you think he smells the mouse?”
    No, he sees you, Hannah thought but she didn’t say it. It was probably best if her mother didn’t know how much Moishe disliked her. “He’s not fond of traveling,” Hannah excused her bristling, hissing pet. And that was a masterful understatement, since her ears were still ringing from Moishe’s non-stop yowls of protest all the way from her condo garage to her mother’s driveway. “Where’s the mouse?”
    â€œIn the guest room. He dashed out of the closet and ran in there. I chased after him and shut the door.”
    Hannah lugged Moishe through her mother’s living room, a pale blue room filled with museum-quality antiques and artwork. It was immaculate, as always. Delores didn’t clean it herself. Marjorie Hanks, Luanne’s mother, came in to polish, dust, wash, and wax every Tuesday and every Friday. In high school science, Hannah had learned that nature abhorred a vacuum and the same could be said for her mother.
    â€œIs it heavy?” Delores asked, as Hannah set the carrier down in the hallway for a moment to get a better grip.
    â€œYes,” Hannah answered, not mentioning that it was one of the more inane questions she’d ever heard. She hoisted her hissing burden, carried him to the guest room door, and set him down again with a grunt. “Okay. He’s ready to go.”
    â€œHe doesn’t look very happy about it,” Delores said, peering in through the grate again.
    â€œHe’ll be okay once I let him out of the carrier, but I’d better supervise to make sure nothing gets knocked over. And I think we should shut the door behind us so the mouse can’t escape.”
    Hannah glanced up at her mother. She was a bit concerned about what would happen when she let Moishe out of his carrier. If Delores was in the room with them, he might just decide to shred her stockings before he hunted down the visiting rodent. “You don’t want to come in with us and watch, do you?”
    â€œGood heavens, no!” Delores looked horrified. “I’ll go