Cities. Yeesh!
Adding to the pests I have experienced since leaving the Midwest, I can now add mice to the list! And no, I'm not filthy, before you think that's why I have mice! I should say mouse. I don't know where he went, and he hasn't brought his friends with him yet.
It started a few weeks ago. I kept hearing this scratching noise on the roof. First, I thought it was maintenance working on the roof. Then, I figured it was probably a bird. Next it moved onto squirrels.
But suddenly, last night, as I was playing Austria in Civilization V, engaged in a war with Siam and at least holding my own, I saw something in my peripheral vision near the closet. I looked up from my catapult ravaging Siam's pathetic archers, as something black scurried out of the closet.
Oh, I thought. Just another b--GAH. By the time my mind processed what had just crawled out of the closed closet, he scurried back in. I threw my laptop down on my bed, stood straight up, started shaking, and texted my roommate who was in a cabin somewhere in Virginia, "THERE IS A MOUSE IN OUR HOUSE. OR RAT. SOMETHING WITH A TAIL."
I didn't hear back from her. By the third message I gave up. It was clear I was on my own.
After sending the first message, I did what any sane and logical person home alone would do. I got the hell out of Dodge. Unfortunately, it was 11:30 at night and the closest I felt safe to leaving Dodge was sitting in the apartment hallway. I knocked on a few doors, hoping someone had a magical 24-hour maintenance number, but despite the fact I could hear pots, pans, and TVs, no one answered. Boy, thanks neighbors.
Over an hour was spent texting people 1,000 miles away who couldn't help me. I was looking for moral support. I got little.
My mom's reaction was amusement.
My friend Jake continued to mock me and suggested more Klingon methods of dealing with the problem.
I would like to point out the only sympathetic person to my plight was Leah, who understands the squickiness I was feeling. Thankfully she often works late and so she stayed up trying to talk me into being brave and opening my closet door. She tried, but didn't succeed.
I gathered enough courage to head back into my actual apartment. But I still wasn't brave enough to go back into my room. I sat out on the patio for an hour, curled up in a quilt telling myself I could sleep outside for the night. But between the teenagers breaking curfew (it was pushing 1:30 a.m. at this point), the people setting off industrial-grade fireworks that made us sound like a warzone, I decided this was futile. Around 2:00 I finally set back inside and back into my room.
I sat staring at my closet door until 6:30. During that time, I read many interesting things about mice and stories of people who were just as disgusted and terrified as I was of them. Finally, around 6:30 I curled up and went to sleep. I would wake every half an hour or so and flail my arms and legs like a crazy person because I was sure the mouse had found me. Around 8:30 I realized I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. So, I got up and finally, finally opened my closet door around 9:30.
No one rushed out to greet me. Or run away, for that matter.
I slowly started going through my suitcase, which is functioning as a dresser drawer right now, and a few cube storage boxes I have for socks and underthings. One by one I took them outside or into the living room. Everything was out of the closet. No mouse to be found.
However, I did find out where they are coming from. On the ceiling of the closet, there is a giant crack that runs on two walls that's probably well over two feet long. The crack is more than enough space for a mouse to squeeze through. Since there was no food for him in my bedroom, I hope he has since left for greener pastures, but I know as long as the crack in my wall remains, I know some other mouse will get curious.
Speaking of cracks in the wall, I really do feel like I need The Doctor to come fix it for me.
Anyway. He and I--the mouse, not the doctor--have reached some sort of detente until tonight. I think he's probably sleeping somewhere, thinking of how he's going to chew me when I'm sleeping and least suspecting it. Shudder.
But the business office opens on Monday, where our e-mail pleas for an exterminator will hopefully be answered. And then the joke's on you, sucker.
In short...I think I've had enough "weekend" for a while. Will keep you updated on the war at home.
Karin
Adding to the pests I have experienced since leaving the Midwest, I can now add mice to the list! And no, I'm not filthy, before you think that's why I have mice! I should say mouse. I don't know where he went, and he hasn't brought his friends with him yet.
It started a few weeks ago. I kept hearing this scratching noise on the roof. First, I thought it was maintenance working on the roof. Then, I figured it was probably a bird. Next it moved onto squirrels.
But suddenly, last night, as I was playing Austria in Civilization V, engaged in a war with Siam and at least holding my own, I saw something in my peripheral vision near the closet. I looked up from my catapult ravaging Siam's pathetic archers, as something black scurried out of the closet.
Oh, I thought. Just another b--GAH. By the time my mind processed what had just crawled out of the closed closet, he scurried back in. I threw my laptop down on my bed, stood straight up, started shaking, and texted my roommate who was in a cabin somewhere in Virginia, "THERE IS A MOUSE IN OUR HOUSE. OR RAT. SOMETHING WITH A TAIL."
I didn't hear back from her. By the third message I gave up. It was clear I was on my own.
After sending the first message, I did what any sane and logical person home alone would do. I got the hell out of Dodge. Unfortunately, it was 11:30 at night and the closest I felt safe to leaving Dodge was sitting in the apartment hallway. I knocked on a few doors, hoping someone had a magical 24-hour maintenance number, but despite the fact I could hear pots, pans, and TVs, no one answered. Boy, thanks neighbors.
Over an hour was spent texting people 1,000 miles away who couldn't help me. I was looking for moral support. I got little.
My mom's reaction was amusement.
My friend Jake continued to mock me and suggested more Klingon methods of dealing with the problem.
I would like to point out the only sympathetic person to my plight was Leah, who understands the squickiness I was feeling. Thankfully she often works late and so she stayed up trying to talk me into being brave and opening my closet door. She tried, but didn't succeed.
I gathered enough courage to head back into my actual apartment. But I still wasn't brave enough to go back into my room. I sat out on the patio for an hour, curled up in a quilt telling myself I could sleep outside for the night. But between the teenagers breaking curfew (it was pushing 1:30 a.m. at this point), the people setting off industrial-grade fireworks that made us sound like a warzone, I decided this was futile. Around 2:00 I finally set back inside and back into my room.
I sat staring at my closet door until 6:30. During that time, I read many interesting things about mice and stories of people who were just as disgusted and terrified as I was of them. Finally, around 6:30 I curled up and went to sleep. I would wake every half an hour or so and flail my arms and legs like a crazy person because I was sure the mouse had found me. Around 8:30 I realized I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. So, I got up and finally, finally opened my closet door around 9:30.
No one rushed out to greet me. Or run away, for that matter.
I slowly started going through my suitcase, which is functioning as a dresser drawer right now, and a few cube storage boxes I have for socks and underthings. One by one I took them outside or into the living room. Everything was out of the closet. No mouse to be found.
However, I did find out where they are coming from. On the ceiling of the closet, there is a giant crack that runs on two walls that's probably well over two feet long. The crack is more than enough space for a mouse to squeeze through. Since there was no food for him in my bedroom, I hope he has since left for greener pastures, but I know as long as the crack in my wall remains, I know some other mouse will get curious.
Speaking of cracks in the wall, I really do feel like I need The Doctor to come fix it for me.
Matt Smith as The Doctor in his regeneration's debut episode, "The Eleventh Hour." Thankfully touching the crack in my wall does not remove you from existence.
Anyway. He and I--the mouse, not the doctor--have reached some sort of detente until tonight. I think he's probably sleeping somewhere, thinking of how he's going to chew me when I'm sleeping and least suspecting it. Shudder.
But the business office opens on Monday, where our e-mail pleas for an exterminator will hopefully be answered. And then the joke's on you, sucker.
In short...I think I've had enough "weekend" for a while. Will keep you updated on the war at home.
Karin
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