A few weeks later, it got worse.
Much worse.
It happened on a cold Tuesday night.
I went to bed at 10 PM like I always do.
Around 2:30 AM, I jolted awake.
Smoke.
I smelled smoke.
My heart started pounding. I ran downstairs, following the smell.
When I opened the door to the garage, I saw it:
Flames licking up the wall behind my car.
I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, shaking so hard I could barely hit the buttons.
The fire department arrived in minutes and put it out before it reached the main house.
The next morning, a fire investigator pulled down a section of the burned wall and pointed at the wires.
“See that?” he said. “These teeth marks? Something’s been chewing on your wiring.”
“Mice?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Very likely,” he said. “Rodents chewing through insulation on electrical lines is a common cause of house fires.”
The damage estimate?
$11,400.
Insurance covered most of it.
But my $2,500 deductible wiped out my savings.
And all I could think was:
“What if I hadn’t woken up?
What if the grandkids had been sleeping over?”
That was the moment something in me snapped.
This wasn’t an inconvenience anymore.
This was war.