Posts Tagged ‘mouse’

From the dawn of time man has sought to extinguish creatures large and small. Whether it be for food, clothing, or just the thrill of the hunt, the human race has attained its position of supremacy in the animal kingdom on the basis of its intelligence, guile, and opposable thumbs. But there are some feats of hunting that even we are no match for: I speak specifically of hunting mice in New York City.

You’ve followed my travails so I don’t have to tell you that I’ve tried everything. You’ll believe me when I tell you this is my very last resort. While I may have come up short in this epic battle for control of Studio Soleil, there is one creature that historically has never failed.

Meet my latest weapon, Six.

I spent a few hours on Thursday down at NYU Law (which is beautiful, by the way, and makes CLS look like a toaster) for their Public Interest Fair (we don’t have our own, but they let New York-area students leech off of theirs). I had an interview at 11AM and then I wanted to sit around picking the brain of one of the ADA’s who had a table there. The interview went well, I was very on. But I have approximately zero desire to work at the organization in question. I only gave their website a cursory glance before firing off an application. The night before the interview (and well past the deadline to cancel) I actually dug through their website and learned about their mission. Turns out I didn’t actually agree with a lot of their principles. But I figured interview practice never hurts. I left the fair around 3PM and headed up to my old neighborhood on the upper east side.

I got her from the ASPCA on 92nd Street. The people there are wonderful. I could not have asked for a better adoption experience. I went into the reception area and was greeted by a young, blond woman with a cheerful disposition and she helped me get my initial paperwork in order. Following that, an almost-elderly woman who volunteered as an adoption intake assistant (AIS) came to introduce me to some cats. She asked what I was looking for in a cat and I told her I wanted one that was no younger than ten. Incredulously, she asked, “Ten years old?” I nodded and she replied, “Why??” I told her that I felt sorry for older cats because no one seemed to want them and I didn’t mind so why not?

From that moment on I was paraded around the building like a war hero just returning home from battle. My AIS would stop every orange-shirted person she saw to tell them that THIS young lady wanted a cat that was ten years old and isn’t that special?

So then she brought me through the glass doors and sat me down to introduce me to Paulette. She was a very sweet lap cat. I don’t know what about me struck the AIS as someone who wanted a lap cat, but I wasn’t feeling any connection. And she was getting black hair all over my clothes. And she was only seven. So I asked to see some more cats. I met a giant fur ball named Brandy and caught a quick glimpse of my future. After I determined that I didn’t have a spare eight hours per day to spend vacuuming, my AIS led me upstairs and I saw a few more nice-looking cats in their glass habitats. No one really struck my fancy in the first room so we proceeded on to the second room where my congregation of AISes had grown to three. As they were definitely up there in years, I suspect they were particularly moved by my strict no youngins requirement.

I met a pretty white cat named Spot that they all seemed to adore although I could not for the life of me figure out why. He wasn’t friendly and when he was let out of his cabinet, he strutted around picking fights with all the other cabinetted cats. After Spot was put away, they showed me Shelley, who I had remembered from the ASPCA website. She was adorable. When they let her out, she came right to me and let me pick her up. I stood there holding her for a long while and knew she would be the one I would take home. She was apparently an ASPCA-worker favorite and everyone was especially nice to me when they found out I was taking her. At thirteen years old, she was the oldest cat I saw and probably the oldest one they had. She had her problems as old cats tend to have (a controlled-by-medication case of hypothyroidism), but she was small and perfect and I had to have her.

I brought her home, re-named her Six (not after the Blossom character), and she immediately went about inspecting everything. When bedtime came, I was surprised that she was still spry enough to make the leap from the floor to my bed. It being her first night and all, I allowed this transgression, but when I awoke in the middle of the night to her sitting on my chest I had a paranoid moment when I thought she was trying to kill me. This morning I put her little cat bed the ASPCA gave me on top of my bed and placed her in it. Ever since then whenever she jumps up onto my bed, she walks straight into her own and plops right down.

As I sit here alternating between writing this post and researching my issue for my moot court brief, she’s sitting under my chair quietly and calmly in a matter befitting someone of her years. As a Very Serious Law Student I’m happy with what a low-maintenance companion she’s turning out to be.

I woke up early this morning (10:30, I’m still on break!) to a strange little sound emanating from the kitchen area. I suspected Fievel was at play again. He had left another pile of wood shavings on a glue trap since my last post…but it wasn’t really a scratching noise. It sounded like a shuffling noise but it wasn’t constant. I got up, put on my glasses, and tiptoed to the corner to turn on one of my standing lamps.

There, helplessly stuck in a haphazardly placed glue trap, was my enemy.

This time I had him. All four appendages were stuck in the glue and every now and then he made a jerk of his body in a fruitless attempt to free himself.

This particular trap was placed on the floor between my door and my stove. As far as I knew, this was outside his regular route and the only reason the trap was even there was that I had taken it off my counter to cook dinner and had immediately forgotten about it.

So there he was – stuck! And in full view!

You might think at this point I called a male friend to dispose of the body. You would be wrong. I handled the situation (almost) entirely by myself! Because I am awesome! And because my friends have jobs and it was a Friday morning.

So I called my dad practically in tears and told him he needed to walk me through the whole disposal process. I had to do it myself and I had to do it fast, lest Mouse escape again. With my dad coaching me each step of the way, I first found a white plastic Tupperware bowl and covered the offending body making sure that the bowl was properly stuck to the glue. Next, I took a heavy book (incidentally, The Dangerous Book for Boys, don’t ask) and set it on top of the bowl’s bottom so that should Mouse escape, he’d be unable to flee the plastic fortress. Then, I cut off a square of cardboard from a leftover Amazon box I had forgotten to throw away the day before. I carefully lifted the end of the glue trap and slid the cardboard square underneath. Then I tore off some pieces of duct tape and sealed the plastic bowl to the cardboard. When I was finished, I put the contraption into a Westside Market paper bag/plastic bag combo I had saved for the occasion, tied it up, threw on my totally-appropriate United States Marine Corps sweatshirt (because I was now a total badass) and marched downstairs and outside to the trash area. I dropped the parcel into a big plastic can, snapped the lid shut, gave it a satisfying smack, and at last Mouse was laid to rest.

It has been an epic battle, but finally the Great Mouse Adventure has come to its dramatic conclusion.

A few words for my fallen enemy:

You fought bravely for the right to chew my cabinets and eat God only knows what you found in my apartment. At times, your valor amazed me. Your strength was beyond belief for someone of such small stature. Although you were faced with a greater opponent and ultimately met your end, you put up a respectable fight.

And I salute you.

I had hoped I was nearing the end of The Great Mouse Adventure. But it seems that not only am I dealing with the Hulk of mice, but he’s also quite the sadist. I don’t know what his game is, but he is chewing holes through my (landlord’s) cabinetry for no apparent reason. He has absolutely NO access to food in my apartment.

I even keep my sugar in the fridge for God’s sake!

So anyway, I had discovered a new hole – it was at the bottom of the cabinet into which I throw Tupperware lids and Saran Wrap – and I decided to place a glue trap just outside the entrance of this hole making it a grand total of four glue traps placed around the kitchen area. And I live in a New York City studio so just picture how tiny my kitchen is. FOUR glue traps! I thought I’d catch him this time for sure! It’s been a long time coming as these traps are starting to piss me off since I get myself caught in them on a daily basis. I’ve ruined no fewer than six pairs of socks stepping on the damn things. They are HARD to pull off, I don’t know how the fucker did it…One trap has a bright pink smudge on it from where it yanked off the fibers of my sock.

Anyway! So I put this latest glue trap down and fully expected Mouse to meet his end during the night. I slept dreamless and guilt-free that night. The next morning I tiptoed into the kitchen to check for my prize. When I examine the glue traps that are placed between the fridge and the sink cabinet, I edge about six inches into the kitchen area and lean over as far as possible to peek. The point of this ritual is that in case I actually do see Mouse up to his shenanigans, I need to be able to run in the opposite direction as quickly as possible and it helps to have a few feet for a head start.

So what did I find lying at the center of the glue trap? A dead Mouse, you ask?

NO!

Mouse is presumably alive but what I did find at the center of my newly-placed glue trap was a small mountain of wooden shavings eaten out of my cabinet and piled about an inch and a half high.

Yes, my life has officially become a Warner Brothers cartoon.

I mean what the heck is next? Is he going to traipse around my apartment removing the bookmarks I have in all the books I’ve half-started? Is he going to move my dress shirts from the front closet to the back closet?? Is he going to mix up my ten seasons of Friends so they’re no longer arranged in chronological order on my DVD shelf? Is he going to turn all my cups rim-side-down in my cabinet or engage in some other kind of terrifying behavior?

He’s playing games with me now and I don’t like it one bit.

I may have to resort to more drastic measures…

Preface: Look, I’m really sorry about all these mouse-related posts, but this is seriously what is most pressing in my life right now. (Yeah, I still have a contracts exam, but as you can see, I really know how to prioritize!)

I am at a loss. I am prepared to throw in the towel.

It all started when I opted for the glue trap. I placed a dab of peanut butter in the middle and enclosed it so that it formed a little tube. The idea was that the mouse would be trapped inside and you wouldn’t have to look at it. I spent the day (Friday) outlining for contracts and went to bed at the respectable hour of midnight. Head hit pillow and I nodded off shortly after.

Not more than an hour later I awoke to the sound of a strange scratching or scuffling sound. I didn’t have to see it to know what was going on. While the peanut butter was placed in the exact middle of the glue strip, the thing was small enough that the mouse could theoretically get two paws on the glue and keep two out of it. So I figured he was in an epic death match with the glue trap, would soon weary of it, and then gently succumb.

I turned on the light near my bathroom which is around a corner from the kitchen so while lighting my apartment well enough to get a rough idea of what was going on in the kitchen, it didn’t flood the place with light. I didn’t want to see exactly what was going on. I ripped my phone off the charger and sent the following text to James:

IT’S IN THE GLUE TRAP. NOT DEAD. HELP!!!!!

A few minutes later James called with the tragic news that he would come over and deal with the situation, but he had just landed in Toledo for the holiday and wouldn’t be back for a week and a half. (I may have gotten a bit hysterical.)

He continued: “Okay, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to open your window. You’re going to pick up the trap. You’re going to drop it out the window. Okay? You got that?”

I replied (voice absolutely quaking with fear): “Okay.”

“And when you’ve done that, you’re going to call me back, okay?”

“Okay.”

We hung up and I immediately dialed Parker’s number. He sounded either drunk or half-asleep. It being 1:25AM at this point, I assumed it was the latter. (It was the former.) After half-explaining, half-shrieking my situation and its direness to him he agreed to get in a cab and come take care of the mouse.

And this point I had only one option. I grabbed my coat out of the closet, took my keys and cellphone and, pretending I didn’t notice the glue trap dancing back and forth across the linoleum, dashed out the door. I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and ran outside. The street was surprisingly quiet for what was relatively early on a Friday night. I felt pretty out of place standing there in my pajamas and coat and glasses while the occasional partier or dog-walker or sketchy person happened by. It was freezing and an embarrassingly long stretch of time passed (and I got propositioned by one too many drunk gentleman) before I realized I should be waiting for Parker in the partition between the outside door and the inside door of my building.

Twenty minutes later he arrived and I gave him the keys to my apartment. He went in to investigate while I hung out down the hall.

Then he said something that made my stomach sink: “Um…I don’t see it…”

“…what?”

“It’s not here.”

“WHAT?!!?”

“Oh. Wait. Is this it?”

“Is WHAT it?”

“I think I see the glue trap. But there’s no mouse in it.”

I dragged myself back into my apartment with as much enthusiasm as a convict headed for the gallows. Sure enough, there was the glue trap somehow wedged between my cupboard wall and refrigerator. And sure enough, the mouse was not in it. There was, however, a not insubstantial pile of brand new wood shavings the little bastard ripped out of my cupboard wall which he no doubt did in a panic-induced bout of hysteria.

I made Parker scour the rest of my apartment with a flashlight peering into corners and under my bed for any signs that the deranged – and now probably really pissed off – mouse was lurking.

I have seriously underestimated this mouse…this herculean mouse who can apparently defeat even the almighty glue trap.

I’m feeling a bit defeated and sad right now. It’s now 4:24AM and I haven’t slept more than an hour. I’m afraid that the mouse, now drunk with rage at my latest murder attempt, will do something horrifying like crawl on me in my sleep to get even.

Oh, New York. You’re such a bitch sometimes.