Jonathan Meyer.

December 18, 2025, is a day that will live in infamy in the history of the Tama-Toledo News Chronicle.

What began as a chilly winter morning quickly unraveled into a series of events that shaped a beautiful, timeless tale we now call Of Mice and Reporters.

That morning, I realized I hadn’t yet shown my dad our newly updated office. We had new pictures, new posters, new furniture, the whole place finally felt alive in a way it hadn’t before, and I was excited to show it off. After coffee and toast, we headed downtown to our little office nestled right into Tama.

I was proudly pointing out posters and intricate details in the back room when my dad suddenly said, “Oh, I see you have a little friend in here.”

I didn’t quite know what that meant until I saw him quickly relocate to the opposite side of the room. That’s when he clarified: “I just saw a mouse.”

I looked over just in time to see a small rodent staring back at me before darting under our bar cart, the one holding apple juice and thrifted champagne flutes, of course. We promptly got the hell out of there. Luckily I had some poison at home!

Neither my dad nor I are fans of mice, rodents, or really any creature we haven’t mutually agreed is allowed to live in our space.

It also happened to be rent day, meaning Michael would be coming by the office. I let him know about the situation while I ran home to grab poison.

He arrived downtown before I got back and chose to remain in his car, which was likely the correct (and safe) decision.

When I got back, we entered the office together. I went in first, while Michael stayed closer to the door. I began placing poison around the room and trying to convince myself this was a manageable situation.

It was not.

The mouse reappeared, darting across the floor. Michael ran out of the building immediately and slammed the door. I finished grabbing what I needed from the back room and stepped outside moments later to find him several doors down the street, speaking with a Tama police officer and his friend “Jolly Green”, who was doing a ride-along, and happened to be nearby.

While the writing might make this seem drawn out, the entire sequence of events took no more than fifteen seconds.

After some brief conversation, laughter, and suggestions that were not going to be acted upon, we decided it was best not to re-enter the office. Instead, we went to pay our rent.

When we arrived, our fear of rodents was met with amusement. Our landlord even chimed in, noting that it’s always the guys with the big beards who are the most afraid of mice. He assured us someone would stop by later to put more poison in the office.

When we returned later that afternoon, more poison had already been put down. Thank you for that, Marty. We appreciated the assistance.

Our next stop was Ace Hardware, where we purchased a variety of traps. I would much rather capture a mouse than have it disappear somewhere unseen and make its presence known days later through smell alone. Based on past experience, glue traps felt like the most effective option.

What we failed to consider was how we would handle the situation if one of them actually worked.

Back at the office, Michael made a brief trip into the back room to move some stuff he didn’t want infected. I began placing traps one at a time, going in and out for each trap. Which initially went poorly, as they had a tendency to land sticky-side down as I threw them (If I was low to the ground the mice would have got me). After some adjustments and multiple trips in and out, the traps were finally set.

Before we left, I stepped inside once more and heard a high-pitched sound that confirmed our fears. One of the traps had done its job, and neither of us was prepared to deal with the outcome.

We decided there was only one person to save us from this urgent moment of strife. Our friend Levi “The Viking.”

After a phone call and a short wait, a truck pulled up in front of the office. Out stepped a Viking in a red flannel, a ridiculous fur hat, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. It was one of the coolest entrances I have ever witnessed. He calmly looked at us and said, “I hear you boys have a mouse problem.”

Like children being rescued by someone much more capable than ourselves, we watched as the Viking went inside, picked up the trap, and disposed of it quickly and humanely.

What Michael doesn’t fully realize is that when I returned to the office alone the next morning, two more mice had found their way into the traps. I took care of them. Quietly. Bravely. Without making a big deal out of it. And with a dog’s “pooperscooper”.

We’ve since put down peppermint oil, maintained the traps, and, for what it’s worth, I haven’t been back to the office much this past month. I’m choosing peace. I’m choosing education. I’m choosing to enjoy being a college student.

Until the mice return,

I’m Just Jonathan.