There is a mouse in my house. I am not okay. He arrived unwelcome and uninvited. He came in through the basement, presumably, bypassed the first floor, and made his way into my office on the second floor. Two flights of steps, completely ignoring the kitchen, where all the food is, and into my space. I feel dirty. I feel violated. This mouse has not earned the trust necessary to invade my privacy. There are a lot of locked doors between the basement and me and yet he took no notice. Or maybe he noticed and didn’t care. I hate this mouse. This mouse should burn in hell. I am not a violent person under normal circumstances, but do not test me. Do not get close to me without permission or I will set a peanut butter trap and crush you.
I think this goes deeper than the mouse.
Perhaps, based on my reaction, you assume that this is my first experience with invaders. Oh, dear reader, it is not. When I first moved here in 2007, I was sitting in the living room watching Harry Potter, as one does, when a bat flew out of the blinds at the patio door. The door was not open. Who knows how long he had been hiding there. Then there was another bat a couple years later and there have been other mice, but those mice stayed downstairs. They did not make their way to me so those mice were of no consequence. This is the mouse that matters.
But that’s not all. Last time I visited my mother I saw a mouse in her house. I watched my cat Elphaba (yes, like THAT Elphaba), play with it until it died. Alas, I am not quite so brave. I bought an inhumane trap and have left the room.
Then there was the time I was working at summer camp and a chipmunk came running through the cabin. That was to be expected seeing as we were living in the woods and yet, somehow, my cabin was the only one to ever be invaded by forest creatures.
And of course there are the birds who live in the space beneath the attic and above my bedroom window. I heard them this morning, back for spring.
And finally, let us not forget The Great ‘Possum Incident of 2002, wherein I awoke at 4am to a loud crash to find that a ‘possum had fallen through the drop tile ceiling of my basement apartment.
I am a modern-day Cinderella, but unlike Cinderella I have not found tiny t-shirts and hats for my mice. The birds only scrape at my window in the early hours of the morning instead of brushing my hair or sewing me couture dresses. I guess the biggest difference between Cinderella and I is that I do not want these creatures around. I want to be left alone. Also I am not a cartoon. I suppose I should have started there.
Tomorrow I will call our exterminater and have him set traps all over the house. Then I will have him come back periodically and check them because though I may be a cold-hearted murderer, I do not handle the bodies. This is why if I were to ever join the mafia, I would be the boss and let someone else do the dirty work. I am positive these things are the same.