So, Phish has an album called The Story of the Ghost. I have a (quickly deteriorating) saga called The Story of the Mouse.
Some of my faithful readers might remember a post about my friend "Charlie" and her battle with rodents. Well, my friends, the rodents no longer reside on 45th Street. They have moved uptown. Just a few blocks in fact. They now terrorize me. Why God, WHY?
Earlier this week, (in addition to the droppings that have been discovered in the kitchen), I found a dead baby mouse stuck to one of my sticky traps, which upon first glance, was assumed to be a dust ball. (Now, what’s more disturbing? That I couldn’t tell the difference between a rodent and a wad of dust? Or that I had a dust wad LARGE enough to LOOK like a mouse?)
Last night marked the latest incident in this terrible saga:
There are many traps laid throughout my apartment. Some are sticky traps. Some are grey, baited, “self-closing” boxes. They are everywhere, for we have a GAGGLE of mice in the building. And they’re multiplying faster than you can say “Sweet Jesus, I live in a zoo." I came home last night, somewhat inebriated from a work event, and in my lowered-inhibitioned state, gathered up the courage to inspect one of the grey traps that had been closed since the night before. Now, these traps are delicate, as I’ve discovered. A simple current of air MAY cause the door to shut. The brush of a tiny rodent paw MAY cause the door to shut. OR, a mouse INSIDE the trap may, naturally, cause the door to shut. I considered all posibilities ... Then I psyched myself up. “Come on, Ms. EMT. You hold strangers' bloody heads while practically laying on filthy glass shard-covered Manhattan streets. This is cake.”
Latex gloves were donned. (Yes, I have my own personal medical-grade stash). A flashlight was used. Breathing techniques employed. I picked up the trap and shook it around. Nothing felt funny – no weight in the box, nothing moved. Yep, it must have a been a current of air. I would re-set the trap - make sure the cashewbutter bait was still there and that it hadn’t been carted off in some evolved Manhattan “we-can-take-the-food-from-your-stupid-traps-without-getting-caught” mouse fashion. Damn these cheap hardware store things. Always malfunctioning… la de da. And with confidence, (and even a chuckling of "mice are so lame,") I opened the little grey door.
*!!!ZOOM!!!&!FTHFEW! ]!$!!BTHANG!!SHOOOH!!
My arm practically jerked back from the recoil. I abruptly dropped the trap to the floor, whereupon it made a clanking sound. That, coupled with my squeal of horror made for quite a commotion in 4B. The surely half-dead mouse shot out of the trap at such an impossible speed, I barely knew what had happened. It’s like I had fired a mouse-trap-weapon. It literally flew across the living room, like I’ve never seen a rodent fly, and scurried off at lightning speed to some mysterious mouse ER which I may or may not discover, until a stench overtakes 4B and the health department is alerted. My apartment will become condemned, I will be evicted and become unemployed and forced to seek a new job for the 3rd time in my New York existence.
This isn't funny anymore. I'm going into full battle mode.
