Thursday, February 28, 2008

Die, rodent, die!

You know your life is seriously out of balance when you keep having to interrupt your work freak out/my-therapist-has-been-out-of-town-for-weeks call to your father in order to yell, "shit!" "get away!" and "goddamn mice!" at a particularly bold rodent headed for your dog's water bowl.

All of this while you're waiting for the valium to kick in.

Yes, this really is the winter of my discontent.

Actually it started in November. Darting shadows, seen just out of the corner of my eyes. Then full-on eye contact with a mouse that ran out from underneath the radiator in my kitchen. Yuck.

Well, I've dealt with mice before, I thought. And hey, why don't I try those special D-Con no-touch, no-see traps.

I bought four of the hockey-puck looking things. They did not have me screaming GOOOOOAL!!

OK, back to my basic covered traps.

But mysteriously the peanut butter kept disappearing without triggering the traps. Finally I started catching some of the sneaky little bastards. But they kept coming. And by January, they were feeling really comfortable with the place. Strolling out from under the couch to boop around the living room, la la la.

After eight kills, I decided it was time for professional help. Help that wouldn't endanger Houdini, who by the way, was pretty much oblivious to all of this. I called a place I had used before for other pests. They were pet-friendly. Or so I thought. However, when the guy showed up this time, he was flummoxed by the presence of Houdini.

"Where do you want to put the poison?" asks Exterminator Man.

"I'm really not comfortable with poison at all," I said.

"We do have really heavy baits that are hard to get into," says EM. (Then how do the mice get in?)

"Um, well, could you maybe put it someplace my dog can't get to?"

"Yeah, I guess I could put some in the attic and in the dropped tile ceiling of the basement. I'll just have to use snap traps in other places."

Snap traps? Open, freaking, wooden snap traps? If I'd wanted to use those I could have set them myself!

The visit was capped off by Exterminator Man telling me he couldn't check for rodent activity in my second bedroom, due to all the stuff in there and that it would probably helped if I organized things.


Don't. Bug. Me. About. My. Clutter.

My therapist has been trying to teach me that my house is not a reflection of who I am, dammit! And who I am is seriously overwhelmed, so back off!

The bill for all of this?





So now it's February, and a second EM visit has revealed that the mice aren't taking the poison. Or getting near the snap traps.

He added glue boxes.

I wasn't happy, but at least I hadn't seen any mice in the last few weeks.

Until Tuesday. On that phone call with my dad.

Get ready Exterminator Man, because you're coming back. You will rid me of my mice!

Otherwise, I'm moving out. Possibly to the psych ward….

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