I've lived alone for I think five years now. I have never been one who's is startled/freaked out by noises caused by things unknown, as I generally chalk them up to the house settling, neighbors, etc. Since Tuesday, I've sat, wide-eyed and on edge, when ever I hear a noise that cannot be directly connected to one of two things: 1) my upstairs neighbors, who must be kinda heavy because they sure are loud walkers, or 2) the train. This change can be directly linked to the moment I discovered I have (I'm hoping it's "had", but I'm also worried about counting my chickens) mice.
Mice are cute if you think of them in terms of Mickey, Danger, Minnie, or Mighty Mouse, but in actuality very nasty. The things are sneaky and have thrived for centuries, which goes to show they are probably works of the devil.
Since Tuesday night, after the first spotting, I have trapped three mice. The first two were unfortunately trapped on glue boards, which is horrific and terrifying and completely inhumane (but the only thing that my building supervisor could provide) and one met it's early demise in a corner of my kitchen. I have apologized to all these mice about their unfortunate end, but was at the same time slightly relieved to have them caught and disposed of. I had some nice men in my apartment Friday, sealing up the space between my floor and baseboards (in an old/vintage building, these are common) to which they said something along the lines of them not being able to get back in, but I'm skeptical. Not only am I skeptical that I won't see any more in my apartment, I can also say with certainty that one was REALLY PISSED last night when I heard it scratching/squealing INSIDE MY WALL. It's like a horror movie gone wrong.
I would like to state that my apartment, while always a little cluttered due to my inability to part with things until I've considered it at least five times, is CLEAN. I routinely vacuum/dust bust, and had, just a couple days prior to this event, scrubbed my kitchen floor. While my building supervisor has said repeatedly that he's surprised I'm having such a bad problem since my apartment is so well-taken-care-of, I still feel like people are going to judge me if I tell them (more like when, cause I can't help but share the story) that I had mice in my house.
I think one of the reason's this is getting to me is because it's a control issue. I do, undoubtedly, like to be in control. Unfortunately, due to several thousands years of evolution and refinement, mice are a lot more likely to outwit me. Did you know they can fit through a hole smaller than a US dime? That is horribly frightening. In the past week, I've seen more mice than I've seen anywhere other than a natural museum.
Et too Universe?