There’s a mouse in my house.

It’s hard for me to admit it. Mostly because to me, it seems like only the filthy end up living with vermin, and since my apartment is OCD clean, having a mouse in my house filled me with shame. Like there must be some crumbs I am missing somewhere…. Some bread crusts that somehow escaped the ritualistic once-a-week disinfecting!

You don’t even know the weird places I have cleaned, obsessed with the notion that if I keep cleaning weird places, eventually I will smoke him out!

Thus far I’ve found no clues to how he is sustaining his existence, except a gigantic mound of popcorn seeds behind a shelf, which I vacuumed up, naively hoping he would take the hint and move on. I have no idea where they even came from, it is fucking freaking me out!

My friend Craig told me they’ll shit in your pockets.

The vacuum is practically attached to my rubber-gloved hand. Basically I have become a specter haunting my own apartment cloaked in a shroud of cleaning supplies, mindlessly roaming and creeping around, seeking out new spots that have been contaminated, unable to rest with the knowledge that they may be out there, moaning and rattling my vacuum cleaner attachments.

The inevitable trauma of moving the stove and cleaning beneath it is rapidly approaching. When that day comes, my friend- I already know I will never be the same.

Anyways, as much as this mouse is disturbing my existence, I’m not the killing type; although it has been insisted to me many times that this mouse will face cruel slaughtering at the hands of my heartless living companion, I am completely delusional after a childhood of Disney movies and that means I can’t kill things. Even disgusting things like mice that are very likely working up the courage to shit in my pockets.

So I got one of these traps that the mouse is supposed to walk into and get trapped in. Every day I check it; I analyze my choice of bait and location. I fantasize that one day I will find my unwelcome house guest in there, and then I put the trap in the van, and I drive, and drive, and drive; I drive all the way to some woodsy area, far from my house, where I set him free. Maybe he’ll get eaten by an owl. Maybe he’ll break into someone else’s house and eat their popcorn seeds. I don’t care, because I didn’t have to kill him and live forever with horrible thoughts of Fats the Mouse and the tragedy of his cartoon death.

Fats the Mouse was a happy-go-lucky fellow, with three kids and a wife. They lived in the warm, cozy walls of an old apartment building; they had many, many bathrooms. Basically it was a mansion. Anyway one day Fats came upon a big pile of peanut butter. Fats was a mouse of great appetite so he thought he would help himself; but when Fats took a step closer, a giant metal bar snapped onto him and broke his head clean off. His children looked on in horror. They cried for the rest of their lives, and everywhere they went, that sad song from “The Land Before Time” was playing in the backgound.

Given that Fats was eating popcorn seeds, I thought he was a health conscious fellow, so I put a bunch of nuts and honey in the trap….

No dice. Is this thing even on?!

The other day I put a cinnamon bun in the trap. I even smeared icing all over the door. But now I’m thinking that may have been creepy. Like if I were walking along and I suddenly saw a door sitting in the middle of nowhere that wasn’t there two weeks ago and there was a bunch of snacks in front of it and Led Zepplin blasting from the inside.

I MIGHT be… suspicious.

highratI’m thinking maybe the thing to do is appeal to his deviant side. I have a working theory that animals like to get high; I don’t know it for a fact, but on several occasions, animals I know of have gone out of their way to eat weed cookies that owners have left out. Most recently, a probably incredibly high rat out in the woods of the Okanagan who ignored all the dirty dishes on our picnic table, crawled inside my bag, and ate a saran wrapped weed cookie that I foolishly left outside while we were camping.

That rat is probably still high to this day. I can’t even eat half of one of those cookies without wigging out, and I’m like… 100 times the size of that rat!