There’s a Mouse in the House

And it’s not Mickey.

Let me start by saying I’m not a mouse fan. I don’t hate them; I just don’t want to co-exist with them. I stayed at my boss’s house for two weeks, and I returned to my apartment to find a dead mouse next to the trashcan. I start to itch all over, just thinking about it.

As if the dead mouse wasn’t enough, there was also a terrible smell. It was so bad, I gagged, and my eyes started to water. I decided to call my friend Mandy. It was late, but I needed some support. We lived in the same apartment complex. She answered right away, and I told her about the dead mouse. She asked, “Are you sure it’s dead?” I responded, “Yes. It’s dead. Dead. Dead. Can you please come over? I am freaking out. Please!”

I was thrilled when she agreed to come over. Kirby was following me around and driving me crazy. Mandy walked into the apartment, and I led her over to the dead mouse. We stared at the mouse. Disgusted, I said, “Look, its eyes are open, and it’s dead. How is that even possible?” I took out my yellow gloves and sprayed lemon cleaner on the mouse.

Mandy called her boyfriend to come over and help with the mouse. She asked me about the smell. I pointed to the wall. “There must be a dead mouse in the wall. Mandy, how can I stay at this apartment knowing a dead mouse was in here? Oh, my God!” I asked her what she thought killed the mouse. She shrugged her shoulders and said she had no idea.

She called her boyfriend to come over and help with the mouse. I said, “Who the hell knows how long this mouse has been dead. I’ve been at Pat’s house for two weeks.” She walked outside to meet her boyfriend. He came in and put the dead mouse in a bag and said he would take it to the trash. I started to gag again. I thanked him and Mandy profusely and sprayed Lysol everywhere, and mopped the floor.

As she was leaving, Mandy said, “You can’t do anything about it tonight. Just call the front office first thing in the morning.” I thanked her again for coming over so late. “I have some Advil PM, hopefully, that will help me sleep.”

The Advil PM didn’t help. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the dead mouse. The next morning, I called the front office as soon as they opened and told Tabitha about the dead mouse. She said that Jason, the maintenance man, would be right over.

Enter Jason. He walked in and I showed him where I found the dead mouse. He said he would bring over some mouse traps. I was certain he was going to mention the smell, but he never did. I looked at him, “What about the smell?” He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t smell anything. How can he not smell anything? Stunned, “It smells like death in here.” He shook his head and said he didn’t smell anything. Good lord.

I called the front office and asked Tabitha if she would come over to see if she smelled anything. I looked at Jason. “I can’t believe you don’t smell anything. Do you have allergies?” He didn’t respond. Abby, the apartment manager, walked in and made a face. She smelled something. I asked, “Do you smell anything? Jason says he doesn’t smell anything.” Surprised, she said, “It smells awful in here. Like death. You can’t smell that?” Abby told Jason to go and get some mouse traps. She said there wasn’t anything she could do about the dead mouse in the wall. I would just have to wait it out. I was irritated, “So, there’s nothing you can do?”

She headed for the door and said she would send someone over to help with the smell. Jason came back with the mouse traps. I told her I had to go to school and wouldn’t be there to let someone into the apartment. I told her I would leave Kirby in the bedroom with the door shut so he wouldn’t be in the way. I turned the fan on high and turned down the air conditioner. I didn’t think it would help, but I thought it might help. My hopes were dashed when I walked in, and it still smelled. I looked around and noticed Styrofoam cups filled with coffee. Oh, my God. Coffee? Coffee?

I decided to walk over to the front office and speak to Abby in person. Abby saw me and asked, “They went to your apartment to do something to help the smell. Did it help” Keep it under control, Christi? Stay calm. I took a deep breath. “No. I saw that there were cups with coffee in them. I’m unclear how that would help with the smell.” She interrupted me, “Often, coffee can mask a bad odor. They also sprayed Odoban.” Oh, my God! We use Odoban in Peewee Ville at church. Irritated, I said, “We use Odoban in the kid’s department at my church.” I was so angry, I just left to go back to my apartment.

I threw out all the cups of coffee, thinking coffee masked horrible smells, was ridiculous and stupid. I’m just going to have to wait it out. I did notice they put mouse traps all over the kitchen. I just hoped I didn’t step on one. It was certainly a possibility. I sprayed Lysol and Odoban everywhere. Eventually, the smell went away, but I could still picture the dead mouse on the floor.

Fast forward to Christmas. I had strep throat, and I seriously thought I was going to die. It was the day after Christmas and my Christmas surprise was seeing a mouse running over my bags in the closet. I’m not sure what was worse, a dead mouse or a live one running around. I figured it could go either way. I’ll never be able to sleep here again.

I called the front office, and they were still closed for the Christmas holiday. I entered the number for maintenance. Marcus called back and said it would take him an hour to get to my apartment. I hesitated. “You live an hour away?” I told him to stay home and to come over the following morning. How can an apartment complex have a maintenance man that lives an hour away? I put some of the mousetraps in the bathroom and around the closet. I was so sick, I doubled up on the cough medicine with codeine and took some Advil PM. I wanted to go to sleep and forget about the mouse.

Marcus came over the day after Christmas to look around. I was still sick, but not sick enough to forget about the mouse. I showed him where I saw the mouse. We took everything out of the closet. We were digging around in the closet, and Kirby started barking. We both just about came out of our skin. Marcus discovered a hole in the back of the closet and one in the pantry. I started to itch all over.

Jason showed up later with a couple of boards to close the holes. I told him, “What about the mouse I saw in here. Jason, now the mouse has nowhere to go. I am freaking out about this mouse situation. Where will they go?” He shrugged his shoulders, “They told me to board up the holes, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Good to know he cares.

The mouse saga continued. I found another dead mouse in the pantry. I didn’t think it would ever end. I called the front office and spoke with Abby. “What are you going to do? I can’t live in this apartment and worry about finding a dead mouse all the time.” She didn’t care either. She gave me some ridiculous explanation that they’ve done everything they can, blah, blah, blah. She had me on speakerphone and that made me even more. I hung up on her.

Two days later, I found another dead mouse. I called back a few minutes later, still no answer. I decided to take a different tactic. I called and left a message. “I know you’re there. If this is how you want to handle this, it’s fine with me…” I decided to take control of my destiny. I took a picture of the dead mouse. I looked up the contact information and e-mail addresses of every person I could find on the company website. I e-mailed everyone on the list, along with the picture of the dead mouse. I also said I would call the health department and have my attorney send a letter. I hit send.

Abby called me within twenty minutes. I smiled as I answered the phone. Abby, you underestimate me. She was irritated. I said, “Oh good, you got my e-mail. So, what are you going to do now?” She said Marcus and Jason would be over there to check the traps and look for more holes. They came in and put out more traps and said they didn’t find any more holes.

My final stint with the mouse was late one Friday. I was watching TV and heard a clap sound coming from the bathroom. I walked into the bathroom with trepidation. There was a mouse in the trap; the difference was it was still alive. It was flailing about, and its eyes were still open. I jumped on the bed and started screeching, “Kirby. Oh, my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

I called my mom, “There’s another mouse!! It’s still moving!” The octave of my voice went up a few notches. “WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?” She told me to calm down. She said I could wait forever for maintenance or take care of it myself. I put her on speakerphone while I dealt with the mouse. I drug out the yellow gloves and Lysol. Kirby stood right next to me looking at the mouse. Mom was still on the phone, I was screaming, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! It’s so gross!” She told me again to calm down.

The mouse was still moving. I was still screaming with Mom on the phone. I picked up the mouse and threw it in a bag. I left Mom on the phone. I put on my moccasin shoes, grabbed the dustpan with the bag on top. It was pouring down rain. I didn’t even care.

I stood there and said to the mouse in the bag, “I am sorry little mouse, but you and I can’t co-exist together in my apartment.” I threw the mouse, dustpan, and yellow gloves in the trash. Mom was still on speakerphone when I walked back into my apartment. She asked, “Do you feel better now?” I said, “No.”

That was the end of my mouse in my house story. It may be over, but it is always in the back of my mind.