Living in NYC, there are little rodents and giant cockroaches everywhere. Occasionally, they slip into the crevices of your home and start to live and breed there. They begin to wander your rooms and run through your kitchen.
This happened to us. It’s happened a couple of times, actually, in the 14 months I’ve been living out here. There were some other memorable times when we’ve interacted with the mice, like on St. Francis of Assisi’s feast day in 2011, we caught like four mice in our mousetraps…after talking about how we should disable them in honor of the saint.
The most memorable mouse escapade happened recently. Like within the last couple of weeks.
See, I’m one of three girls living with six men, five brothers and a volunteer. Recently, a charming little mouse had been running around the volunteer’s room, which Chris (the volunteer), wasn’t too excited about. So Br. Ed, in true Ed fashion, decided to set a mousetrap up in Chris’ room. Originally, he wanted to put the trap in Chris’ extra bag, which is where the mouse was most often seen.
This idea got vetoed. I mean, think about it: unsuspecting and forgetful Chris probably would have stuck his hand in the bag and gotten his poor fingers stuck in the trap…a disaster for sure!
So Ed set the trap up under Chris’ bed, and told him that it was there (I know this, because Chris told me about it shortly after the trap was first set). In true Chris-fashion, the trap was forgotten until one evening.
Chris was walking up the stairs to his bedroom, and it reeked. It stank of dead, rotting animal. Fortunately, Chris was able to put two and two together and remember that there was indeed a mousetrap set in his room. Unfortunately, he forgot where Ed had set it, so he randomly searched his room until he found the mouse.
According to legend, his reaction was along the lines of this:
Because we all know dead mice in traps come after you like this little toy mouse:
So Chris was freaked out. Tragic. Meanwhile, I was in bed ready to sleep when I got a text from him.
Ed set a mouse trap in my room, it got the mouse, and now smells like dead animal. Why am I telling you this…I am too scared to grab the dead mouse and trap from under my bed.
I’m thinking on sleeping in the guest room.
I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes as I rolled out of bed, grabbed a garbage bag from the bottom of my trash can and trudged to the third floor. I surveyed the situation, left to grab some paper towels to scoop the mouse with, and rolled my eyes some more.
I was the only girl in the house at the time. Five of the six guys were there. I was the one cleaning up the mouse, disinfecting the area, and febreezing the bajeezus out of Chris’ room so he could sleep in his own room, and so that the mouse wouldn’t stay there rotting for the next week and a half until Ed got home. I don’t know where the other four guys were, but Chris was collapsed on his bed, exhausted from his fear:
If you think this is a little funny and a little crazy…or even just a little sad…you should donate to the program that got me to the point where I’m the only girl among five men, and I’m the one cleaning up a dead mouse.