The Molokai Mouse

Have I written before about the Molokai Mouse?  Probably so since it's a favorite story of mine.  It all began 10/11, a year after the NYC nightmare that made everyone a New Yorker, including the slow of drawl and the red of neck.  [What a pity that moment of unity was led down the same old shoot-from-the-hip trail.]


Anyhow, my sister and I planned a trip to Hawaii, thinking, "What the heck?  Traveling's never been safer."  Planned a few days on the windward side of Oahu where I'd lived three delicious years in a former life.  Were the islands be as beautiful as I remembered?  Absolutely!  It's the one place you can go back.  More people, but the beauty remains.


Molokai seemed a good island to visit since I'd seen the others and we were looking for the slow lane Hawaiian experience.  We found it on Molokai, a place where folks refused to allow high rise hotels.   In fact, there was but one motel and a dude ranch.  We rented a house on the high eastern tip of the island, a lone dwelling on grassy acres enclosed by tangled growth of giant bananas, philodendron, coconut and I don't know what all.  It was gorgeous. 


The narrow road from Kaunakakai  to our rental was about 20 miles as I remember, paved, but to say it curved is gross understatement.  It clung to cliffs high above rocky surf where surfers maneuvered between the boulders.  At one point a boulder the size of a small house had to be crept around on a single lane.   We crossed our fingers and honked the horn like crazy.  The drive took 45 minutes. 


The house was spacious, a little much for two old sisters, but we loved it.  The first night a cookie left on a saucer was seriously damaged by some minute creature.  The "tracks," obviously that of a mouse lead to the kitchen range.  Hmmmmm!  How can we deal with the tiny landlord?  We could turn on the oven......nah, too smelly and inhumane.  We could just keep feeding him/her.  After all she/he was there first.  What about a little Scotch?  It so happened we had a fine bottle; so we shared a little in a bottle cap.


Next morning, no tracks, and a few drops of Scotch seemed to be gone.   Never heard or saw signs of the Molokai Mouse again.  Or was that a tiny mouse singing in my dreams?     

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