Mouse in the House

Actually, mice. Plural. In my apartment. But that doens't have near as nice a ring to it.

Ew ew ew ew EW. I'm thoroughly weirded out by this. 

It was bad enough, working at camp, and having mice in our tents. I was famous for not only sleeping under my mosquito netting, but in the same hooded shirt with the hood tied up tightly around my face so that I could barely breathe. Every single night I did this, all summer long. 

But it's WAY worse being in your home. I mean, when you're camping it's like 'Hey Mickey, I really don't want you pooping in my ear, but, ya know, I'm outside. I'm in your territory. Live your life.' But now that these suckers are coming on my turf, it's a different ball game. 

I bought the largest assortment of torture devices I could get my hands on. I bought little kibbles they eat and then die from. I bought classic traps. I bought newfangled spinny things where you never actually see the dead mouse inside the contraption (these are already my favorite). Something better tell these jokers they are messing with the wrong apartment.

Two things about this adventure so far have surprised me. One is Kota's complete lack of interest. Despite all the commotion I've caused so far, with the screaming and couch jumping and whatnot, I don't think she's actually seen the critters yet. And apparently she hasn't smelled them. Either way she made no attempt to catch them despite my pleading with her. She's all about chasing squirrels and other rodents outside, but something about these mice just aren't pissing her off as much as they should. Of course with all the danger devices she is now banned from the infected area, but I still can't help but feel a little disappointed in her protection of me from these mice.

Gerard, however, who won't even throw away a dead spider I killed for him, smooshed in a paper towel, is totally cool about the ordeal. He's finally pulling his weight with the designated boy stuff (love you baby.... I mean that in the nicest way possible. I do.). He and his geeky lab science boy self apparently have killed and handled thousands of mice, so this is no biggie to him. 

I, on the other hand, am going to rock myself to sleep with the mantra that mice can't climb up stairs to my bedroom. And please, please don't tell me otherwise. Our stairs are more like steps, if there's different connotations to those words. There aren't backs on each steps, so as far as I'm concerned, they really can't get up unless they jump 5 inches. 

Maybe I'll find a hoodie to wear to bed, just in case.