Im writing this from the eye of the storm. Thats right, my roommate and I are engaged in a battle to the death with a mouse. Before you roll your eyes, remember — I have already humanely caught 2 mice and let them free in Central Park to scamper around with all the fat squirrels. My only theory is that I caught 2 baby mice and now momma or poppa is out to get us, cause this guy ain’t playin’ around.
It started a few days ago when my roommate thought another mouse was in the house. “I hear him walking around in the kitchen when I’m here alone, he makes the floor squeak.” “What are you, the Mouse Whisperer? How come he never comes out when I’m around?” You’ll see, she said. And see I did. The next day when we woke up, one of our pictures was knocked to the ground. I understood that to be his declaration of war.
So last night Amanda and I go to bed around midnight. I don’t fall asleep too quickly, so I was messing around with my new phone (sidenote: thought getting a smart phone would make me way cooler, but I still get the same amount – or lack thereof – of calls and messages) when I heard what sounded like a poltergeist. I thought that finally we’d caught that sucker – we concluded days ago that he was too big for the trap, but still left it out to show that we weren’t scared. Amanda and I texted back and forth about how relieved we were that he was finally caught, neither of us getting out of bed. By this time it was almost 1:30; we agreed to go out together to double check he was caught so that we could sleep easy. Meet in the middle, peer around the corner — nothing. He wasn’t in there. All I could do was lie in bed stiff as a board in sheer terror, waiting for him to gnaw one of my limbs off. At one point, I could have sworn he hopped up on my bed like a cat wanting attention. I couldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom. I thought about it, and ran through scenarios of how I’d slam the door on his neck if he poked his head in while I was on the toilet. Anyways, none of that happened and I finally dozed off a little after 3.
Tonight I come home after dinner and Amanda said “I have a plan. I think he’s chewing on the gas lines, and we’ve got to end this tonight.” Together we concocted this brilliant plan: we would prop the front door open, roll a towel up so he couldn’t sneak under the door into the pantry, line the path from the kitchen to the front door with 3 open umbrellas, and Amanda would stand on a cooler and poke the end of the Swiffer back behind the stove/refrigerator where we could hear him gnawing away. I don’t know where he got those balls from, but they’re huge. So we’re poking around, hearts in our throats, and finally I tell Amanda we should trade places because not only is she deathly afraid of mice, but my arms are longer. So here I am standing on a cooler trying to coax this mouse out the front door, while I picture the whole mouse family is plotting under the floorboards. After multiple futile attempts, and a large amount of shuffling heavy appliances, we decide to consult Super Larry (who is actually super).
He gives us two of the glue traps (sorry PETA but I gave this mouse ample opportunity for Central Park relocation), and we go to Duane Reade to buy steel wool to plug up the baseboard behind our stove/fridge where the mice are getting in through huge gaps. On our way back, we pass a group of about 6 or 7 people our age clearly getting ready to hit the town. Of course everyone else in my demographic is out getting tipsy and Im trying to evict Fivel. I also had visions that we would come back to the apartment and “DIE” would be spelled out in cheese on the floor or something. My imagination is running wild.
Currently the countertop is pulled away from the wall and the glue trap is set in prime position. Hopefully this will be the last night I’m strung out on fear.
I partly wrote this so I wouldn’t have to turn the light off yet.