I'm living in an execution chamber.
The night before the inauguration, because it was very, very important I get to sleep early, I had insomnia. I got up about 1:30 and went in the living room, and from my desk I saw a mouse run out of my hall coat closet. I chased it back in to keep it from running into my bedroom. I tried to sleep, but took little comfort from the rolled-up towel I stuck along the bottom of my bedroom door, as I've read that mice can squeeze through a hole the diameter of a #2 pencil. They are the Eugene Victor Toomses of the rodent world.
I spent the next few days living in abject terror of a creature smaller than a Baby Ruth bar. On Friday the exterminators came, and things got worse. I now have 15 traps (that I can see) scattered around my living room and kitchen. You can't go two feet without coming across one. Some are snap traps and some are those sticky boxes the mice go in and get stuck and God knows what happens next. Mice are nocturnal; unfortunately, so am I. But I figure when I'm up stomping around the place with all the lights on watching the Australian Open my friend is not likely to show his whiskers.
But once I start turning off the lights I'm put in a mind of a scene in Bram Stoker's Dracula where the count's carriage is racing toward home while the sun sets. Once it's dark and I'm in bed, I can't stop listening for the sounds of capture and the resulting horror. I had no idea how many snapping, shuffling, and squeaking noises my apartment makes. Several nights I was certain I heard something terrible happening out in my living room, but in the morning found no evidence. I've tried putting on the radio to block out any sounds, but was afraid the dulcet tones of the British announcers on The World Today would just lure Mr. Mouse into my room. If I had the know-how, wherewithal, and gumption I'd devise some humane way to capture him and let him out into the wilds of Rock Creek Park. But I don't. (And can house mice even live in the wild?) At any rate, I've asked the exterminators to remove the traps on Friday. I'd rather live with a live mouse than a dying one.
It could be worse. If I didn't make this up, my sister-in-law's brother (my brother-in-law once removed?) once heard what sounded like a rat running around the attic, so put a big rat-sized trap up there. He came downstairs, and soon heard "THWAP! . . . SHWISSSH, CLUNK, SHWISSSH, CLUNK, SHWISSSH, CLUNK."
And with that thought I'm about to turn off the lights. SHIVERS.
How did I miss this post? Is this the same hall coat closet near where I slept on the air matress in December? I thought I felt little mouse hands scratching my ears in the middle of the night. I just figured it was some weird Alvin and the Chipmunks dream, or an odd reaction to the Baba ghanoush.
Posted by: Dubliner | February 09, 2009 at 06:01 PM
I never thought of the horrors if someone were sleeping on the floor while the mouse was in the house. Fortunately I haven't seen any evidence of him since the night before the election.
Posted by: mbpalaver | February 09, 2009 at 07:01 PM
They say on average that, while sleeping, a person eats seven spiders in a lifetime. I wonder how many mice?
Posted by: Dubliner | February 10, 2009 at 02:52 PM