I AM NOT ALONE IN MY HOUSE!
Ok, so first, if you don’t already know, I live in a concrete box, on what equates to the third floor (there’s a loft underneath me). It’s a SOLID CONCRETE SHELL. NOTHING LIVES in my apartment. No plants, no pets, no bugs. The occassional bee wanders in from time to time, and is promptly crushed with either a rolled up Wired Magazine or, occassionally, a week old issue of Mcleans (basically, whatever is on my coffee table). From as far as I can tell, the windows are the only point of ingress / egress; the door has a contact plate on the bottom that gives it essentially a 1/8th of an inch clearance.
My house, for the most part, is pest proof.
This is entirely by design. My last place was an older character home, which had many points of entry for mice and such. One even died in the walls, which created such a horrid smell that even the memory of it makes me wretch. So I specifically chose someplace new, high up, and secure. Something no pest could penetrate.
Or so I thought.
I was watching the tv the other night and noticed something move quickly across the floor – along the wall, it disappeared behind my filing cabinet. Now, I know that there’s no way a mouse/rat can get it, he’d have to climb up the side of the house using one of those ninja claw-hands or rapell from the roof. So I dismiss it; it’s got to be my mind playing tricks on me.
Only, my mind played tricks on me again, about twenty minutes later. Hmm.
Then, this morning, I wake up with a horrible sickness – it’s like that god damned flu coming back again. Something has infected me! I stagger from my bed and LO AND BEHOLD, There is a FUCKING MOUSE/RAT tearing across the floor, bolting for the safety of my oven. It disappears and the last thing I see is his tail retreating under the stove’s bottom. Yes, you better hide, you mouse/rat fucker. Hide all you like, it won’t help. Because now i’m on to you. Your existance has been confirmed and now it’s time to go the FUCK away.
I call him “mouse/rat” because I didn’t have my glasses on, and can’t really tell you what he is. So i’ll just call him “Matt”, which is a clever hybrid of Mouse and Rat. I’m like that, you know. Clever. With the jokes.
Anyhow, so now the house is loaded with four different peanut-butter laiden traps. I have to sleep in this 525 square foot single room apartment with the full knowledge that Matt may well attack me in my sleep once he realizes that I’ve declared war on him and the battle has begun in earnest. He’s here, somewhere, carrying what I’m sure is the current incarnation of the Black Plague or Ebola or some such vile symphony of diseases. My ginger tea cannot even begin to take the edge off my sickness, which I’m sure will hit me in full force tomorrow.
I will keep an ear open tonight for the soothing sounds of a lound SNAP! sound, which, I hope, is the sound of Matt’s little neck being cracked by a 90 cent wooden mouse trap. To further entice him to come out I baked a big-ass lasagna tonight. I’m hoping the smell will drive him bananas and force him to come out, looking for food. Oh, there’s food alright. Right here, on this little wooden plate, supported on this little brass serving dish for you. Dive right in.
Wish me luck, and if the page isn’t updated in a few days, send the Police, because it means Matt has won. I’m either dead, or have been taken into mouse captivity.