After living in Hollywood for almost a decade, I’m finally moving to a new place! It’s a vintage craftsman that has me reminiscing about my old Brooklyn apartment, a small one-bedroom on the fourth floor of a walkup and a total dump.
My landlord was a local Italian butcher and anytime something would break he’d send one of his butcher shop cronies over to fix it. These guys were nice but had absolutely zero experience in home repairs and jimmy-rigged everything.
In 2006 I had a mouse in the closet and $7 to my name so I couldn’t buy a mouse trap. The incident disrupted my life for days and I chronicled the entire thing in real time on my old “Pretty in the City” blog. Enjoy!
I HAVE A MOUSE — May 24, 2006 | 2:38 AM
OMG...I HAVE A MOUSE IN MY APARTMENT RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT! (2:38am EST) SO GET THIS...I'm sleeping tonight, all sleepy-sleep in my bed, when Bev starts barking wildly and jumps off my bed. Sometimes she and Elvis play in the middle of the night so I didn't think anything of it, but then I realized...this was a different bark. I quickly sat up, looked out my bedroom door and into the living room (thank God I sleep with a night light—I do so for moments just like this) and saw both her and Elvis standing guard outside a closet, staring into it.
I stood up, walked over to them and neither of them moved from their spot. I looked inside the closet and didn't see anything, so I shut it. Bev went back to bed (outta sight, outta mind for her, I guess), but Elvis is still paroling the area, pacing back and forth outside the door, peering underneath. I hear something inside making noise, like a chewing, gnawing noise—it has to be a mouse! What else could it be?
OMG, OMG, OMG!!!! I don't have a roommate anymore—what am I supposed to do? I hate, hate, hate rodents. I can deal with a roach—I don't like them but I can deal with them—but a mouse I cannot. In my first book, that whole big mouse/baby rat fiasco (we're still not sure what it was) was pretty much the worst day of my life.
So, I don't have many choices on what to do here. I can lock the babies (Elvis and Bev) in the bathroom (because I don't want them to get it), then try to muster up the courage to open the closet door and shoo the bastard out with a broom.
Okay, who am I kidding—if I see it I'll close my eyes and scream bloody murder, then have no idea where he ran off to.
Okay, next option...I can plug up the bottom of the door with a t-shirt or something so he doesn't get away while I'm gone (the steel wool I have is in the very closet that little MF-er ran into), run to the corner store, buy a mouse trap and attempt to “toss” it in the closet when I get back.
PROBLEM: I have $1.35 in my wallet and $7 in my checking account. How much are mousetraps? (I'm getting paid tomorrow. Life's really glamorous as a writer—isn't it?)
Whatever I decide, I'm popping a Xanax first. I'll keep you posted on what happens.
Mouse Update — May 24, 2006 | 4:57 AM
Okay...I'm sending this from my BlackBerry while I'm in bed. I took a Xanax...I've calmed down. I shoved a periwinkle Martha Stewart towel in the crack at the bottom of the door and along part of the side, so the little bugger is sealed in. Elvis is perched on top of the towel and is still keeping watch. Bev is posted at the bottom of the bed and can alert me if the prisoner somehow breaks free, gets past Elvis, and comes in my room to eat me.
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