Thursday, October 16, 2008

Funny things in my bed

It seems I have a roommate. I discovered her just this evening as I went out into the kitchen to leave some dirty dishes in the sink, and swoosh, there she ran into hiding in the stove.

I'm pretty sure I identified a tail on her, which brings me to the conclusion that she is a mouse, or a rodent of some sort, and not as I feared for a second, a cockroach.

Of course I will keep on fearing it's a cockroach for a little longer, just to be on the safe side.

Marie had a mouse in her room this summer and called me up all crying and sobbing and asked me to come to her place to try and catch it.

"She ran behind the bed", she declared upon my arrival. She was standing atop a chair in the living room, from which she made several observations about the mouse, whom she kept referring to as a woman or at least a female - just as she does with a bunch of other things that cross her path. My new lamp that I bought yesterday from a guy in the street, being one example. "Does she work?" was Marie's comment when I showed it to her.

After I saw the mouse in the kitchen I froze for a good minute or so, just for the drama, and afterwards called Al to inform him of my misfortune. I realize I'm like that: If animals larger than a quarter of a dime enter my living space, I'd like for the world to know.

Al didn't pick up, but fortunately Jorge from upstairs came walking up the stairs soon thereafter, and came in and disassembled my stove only to find a gazillion little mouse droppings all over, some of them baked.

"See it's a mice", he said and pointed to them, and I leaned in to inspect the size of the poop as well, admiring his ability to identify it as sure as night follows day.

Jorge was so nice, and checked for the mouse everywhere even though he was coming down with the flu. And when he didn't find it, he suggested I turn on the oven, which would most certainly bring it out.

It's a clever suggestion, I guess, but I won't do that though. I'm still haunted by the poor little thing that got stuck on the sticky trap in my apartment when I was living at 11 Waverly. The fact that Andy named it Percy and spun a story about its orphaned children didn't help my conscience much either. I'm done with hurting mice.

Which brings me to a realization: I'm quite fond of mice. For therapeutic reasons I decided to google for images of mice just now as a way of confronting what I am currently sharing house with. And they are quite adorable, and I can somewhat imagine the two of us getting along.

But here's the catch: I kind of prefer knowing when she is going to be around. It makes me uneasy that she comes and goes as she pleases, and especially the fact that she is nocturnal makes me reluctant to believe we will be great roommates unless she is willing to make some changes. If she came out slowly one morning and introduced herself properly, showed me where she prefers to hang out, where she gets her food, then I'm sure we would be able to get along. That, and if she could relieve herself somewhere else than in the oven, would be great. Little things like that.

Marie offered me to come by and sleep at her place, but I've decided to play it cool and behave like the 27-year old that I've become. I've built a big fort by the entrance to my bedroom, and will sleep with the lights on, which I am thinking should convey the message. That my bedroom is not to be considered a shared space, that is.

So now I shall crawl into bed and do as Marie just told me in a text message: "try think about funny things in ur bed and everything will be ok!"

p.s. I think I am ready for marriage. This experience reminds me once again that I am in need of a man, or a manly woman, to take care of mice and such.

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