On dealing with mice…

23 Sep

You guys don’t understand: I can’t just get a cat. I don’t do cats, Tori doesn’t do cats, and my building only allows one pet per unit. I thought about getting a parrot and a week later they put up a sign saying that no “exotic” pets are allowed. Would a parrot be considered “exotic?”  When I was little, we had a pet parrot in Brasil. He just flew to our mango tree one day and we fed him… He decided to stick around. The little bastard would curl his head down as we petted his neck, then all of a sudden raise it back up, pecking our fingers  really hard. Fucking bipolar parrot just flew away forever one day.

Parrots live absurdly long lives and I think that’s awesome. I’d love to be 50 years old, living with the parrot I got when I was 20-something. I’d teach it useful words such as “porra,” “foda-se,” “alô?” and “tchau!” I might even have it record my voicemail message.

But I can’t have a parrot. That’s OK, though, because I really love where I live. I lived in the area five years ago but had to move out because I became temporarily unemployed and nearly hopeless. And five years later, I’m back. I fucking love Ringer Park. It’s so very close to me that I walk my dog there every morning and evening. I let her off leash and she rolls around in dirt, squeaking like a broken toy, big smile on her face. We walk around the dirty panties, the queen-sized mattress, the half-eaten $5 Market Basket lobster, torn T-shirts, used tampons, empty fireworks cartons, and broken glass, and head to the open grassy area atop a hill, where I can stare at little children in the playground. The boys are fun to watch; they are restless; throwing shit at each other, running, climbing on shit, jumping from shit. The girls, on the hill ahead of Tori and me, stand around, playing with their hair, raising their hands to ask the game coordinator questions. While Tori eats grass, or rolls around on it, or poops.

As I walk back home through the park, I get whistled at by guys playing basketball, say ‘hi’ to an elderly lady keeping company to an even older lady who doesn’t seem able to move, or speak, or maybe even see. They sit there in silence, enjoying the early Fall breeze. Back on the wide sidewalk, Russian grandmas stand around, gossiping about other Russian grandmas’ children, some locals congregate in front of the package store, and the T attempts to deafen me once again with its screechiness. I really like my neighborhood. I really like hopping on the T and coming to this bookstore/coffee shop, sitting at the bar, having cup after cup of coffee, and abundant amounts of melted Havarti and avocado on a deliciously baked, perfectly toasted, thick slice of rye bread. And some chips. And more coffee. And I sit here and look at people around me. I am, of course, quite content in my current state; a result of learning how to roll my own cigarettes. Well, I didn’t so much learn how to do it, as I bought an easy roller and it does the work for me. But, you know, the end result is the same.

So that’s it. I love where I live, I don’t want to move, and I’d sooner chop off my left middle finger than get rid of Tori, so no cats for me. But I am determined to conquer the motherfucking mice. Every day I’ve forced myself to google images for “dead rat” and have written a letter to distribute to building residents, urging them to have their individual units exterminated, or face the consequences of a mice infestation this winter, as the creatures use our cabinets and walls as conjugal rooms. I will win. The mice will die.


9 Responses to “On dealing with mice…”

  1. Martin September 23, 2010 at 18:56 #

    Ju. Tori needs to get OFF her ass and handle this for you. You feed her, you water her, she sleeps in your bed, for christ’s sake. The two things that a dog is supposed to take care of is unconditional love and PROTECTION. The first is the one that is easy to do. Its easy to love when it doesn’t require any work. But to protect means that she has to get her frikkin hands dirty and get busy. Explain to that little furball that its time she earned her keep.

    • Sean September 23, 2010 at 21:48 #

      Martin is very much correct in this matter. And he’s looking for a roommate, you should move to Santa Monica.

  2. Mr. Apron September 24, 2010 at 03:49 #

    We used to have such a mouse problem. Nasty. My wife called me “The Undertaker” because I would exit the house every morning with a plastic baggie full of mousie death every morning.

    Did we live in squalor? I thought so, until I started watching “Hoarders.”

  3. Sweta September 24, 2010 at 04:13 #

    I remember my parents putting me off to sleep and then gearing up to club some rodent ass.ghastly shit,that.

  4. Sara September 24, 2010 at 09:00 #

    After I read your last post, I had a dream that there was a mouse in my toilet. : (

    I tried to drown the little bastard, but he was fucking resilient and much too big to be flushed. I woke up before I could figure out what to do.

    Thanks for that.

  5. jeremy September 24, 2010 at 12:24 #

    im all about the glue traps cause u can just pick up the whole trap (hands optional) and throw it away…easy breezy and if u want to save money just buy the larger rat ones and you can catch like 3 mice at a time on those babies

  6. Justin December 5, 2011 at 08:26 #

    C’mon. The “T”. Bostonian. Knew that right away. So, Fucking Mice. I have a house in VT that sits in the middle of a clearing in a big bunch of woods. It must look like Shangri La to the local rodentia. . Thing is, I never cared… A few token turds in a closet, a few on the counter when I left out a bit of food. My fault really, if I kept my stuff put away and clean then no self-respecting mouse would be obliged to visit.
    Until they shit in my teaspoons. That did it. Wake up and head immediately to First Cup, proceed to sterile silverware drawer and find abundant leavings of fucking mice. Why in the silverware drawer? There is not a fucking crumb of food there. Why. I let you little things live with me like some sort of Buddhist hippie, why do you have to take a shit in my teaspoon? Of course you realize this means war….
    I found your blog by googling “mouse shit” in a fit of boredom. Go figure.

  7. nope November 30, 2012 at 16:55 #

    You people are horrible
    I don’t even like mice and the way you talk about them is like they aren’t even living creatures
    glue traps are incredibly inhumane, and by some huge twist of fate, it would please me greatly if you all were caught on one.

    • Juba March 8, 2013 at 20:58 #

      no, nope. it would be inhumane to have us humans caught on glue traps. that’s not a nice thing to say, nope.

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