Call a motherf*cking exterminator.
Last night at 12:30 AM I was awoken by banging, stomping and shrieking. I assumed that Kayla had just arrived home from her weekend in Minneapolis, and although all I did this weekend was sleep, I was pissed that she was being so loud. That is, until I received the following text message: Oh my GOD. We have a mouse in our house.
Look - my skin is tough (sort of). I've killed live cockroaches and picked up dead ones. I've had a fat rat cut me off while I tried to run up the steps of the Houston subway stop. I've eaten an entire bowl of cereal with milk that had expired a week prior. I've had a homeless man chase me. I've seen two men throw up on the subway and one almost die. I've even walked down the streets of NYC barefoot - a place where mice/cockroaches/rats do, too.
But honestly, nothing could have prepared me for last night's text message.
Kayla busted into my bedroom seconds after the text was sent. I could only make out her silhouette - her dark arms flailing in the air, body shaking. The story went like this: she walked into her bedroom, suitcase in hand and flipped on the lights just as the mouse zipped across the floor, landing safely behind her TV.
We screamed together and expressed how much we hated this city (it's a love/hate relationship, as you know). Then all we could think/talk about was the episode of Sex and the City where the mouse runs across Carrie's face as she's sleeping. And then all we could think/talk about was, why was the mouse in her room? She's clean. SO CLEAN. And I'm messy. SO MESSY. Sometimes I eat in my bed!
Does that mean there is a little mouse family living amongst my piles of t-shirts and dirty jeans?
I'm looking for someone to tell me what to do. Because I just can't do this. I can't. What's next? An albino rat?
4 comments:
Check your shirts/clothes. My friend was a counselor at a sleep-away camp, and a mouse chewed vertically up his shirts one summer. All of his T-shirts had a mouse-hole in the middle.
If you don't want to deal with conventional mouse-traps where you have to take the dead mousey out yourself, SkyMall catalogues have some super high-tech mouse-zapper houses with a flashing light when a mouse is dead. You just dump it out in a trash can. Who knows, maybe it'll catch some roaches too.
Just remember, even though they're gross, it can't really hurt you. Unless it's supremely evolved into a super-mouse with super-strength and flesh-eating saliva.
Then you're fucked.
Ah, yeah, a mouse. Since when did you turn in to such a WIMP??!
A mouse can't really hurt you. And all they leave behind is little black rice turds. At least you can trap them. And one mouse doesn't necessarily mean 1,000 mice. Not like those dispicable cockroaches.
Get a cat! I'll gladly bring Oscar with me next month. He needs a change of pace. Evelyn is neglecting him.
I'd be more worried about the cockroach infestation if I were you. Oh. Infestation. Not good.
--Mommie Dearest
We once had a mouse in our toaster and I was home alone. It was horrible. Needless to say I was a wimp and we got rid of a perfectly good toaster and got a new one.
I'm with you girl. But also with your mama- cockroaches are bad news. Good luck.
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