Update Sunday 8:30 AM:
I caught TWO of the mice last night with these spin traps. The reviewers on Amazon.com write that the traps do not kill instantly as claimed, and that they heard the mice struggle and squeak as they slowly perished. I, however, heard nothing but the sweet, sweet sound of victory.
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I can’t write much right now–if you read this communique, gentle reader, then it has been successfully smuggled from the front lines of the miserable conflict your humble correspondent is fighting.
In an unprecedented and utterly baseless act of blatant aggression, vermin have infiltrated Miss Margo Manor. The small gray mice have demonstrated nothing but naked contempt for diplomacy and the law of war. They never communicated their intent to invade this apartment, nor have they provided any justification for their presence. They are arrogant, insensitive, and vile in the extreme.
Without clear proof of the vermins’ intentions upon this apartment and its denizens, Miss Margo is left to speculate that the mice are here simply to harass the shit out of her, make her uneasy, suck up her free time, and threaten her peace of mind.
Hence, we have launched Operation Barbarossa against the Menacing Rodents.
(…actually, now that I think of it, Operation Barbarossa was a spectacular failure. Hopefully my campaign against the disgusting mice will be more like Napoleon’s Destruction of the Third Coalition. Only time shall tell. And yeah, I’m a war nerd. I’m worse than a guy.)
One of them got into my Parrot cage, man. That’s what really made me go psycho. Till then, I was all, “There’s only two of three of them! I’ll get humane Havaheart catch-and-release traps!” I even ordered them from Amazon.com. I’m not scared of mice the way I am of roaches–we had a few rats for a while in my last crummy apartment, and they never freaked me out. They’re mammals, you know? But after I saw the little mouse bastard running around in Parrot’s newspaper under her birdbath, I flipped. I donned my rubber rain boots and long cleaning gloves and got my flashlight and a bottle of spray bleach. I put on sunglasses just in case. I intended to smash it with the flashlight or blind it with chemicals. Screw you if you are laughing at me right now. The mouse tried to hide from me in newspaper shreddings, but then it leaped through the bars of Parrot’s cage. I pursued, but somehow it escaped. Asshole. WHERE DID IT GO? I CAN’T FIND THE HOLE!
I spent four hours last night vacuuming, scrubbing, and BLEACHING everything in the kitchen and bird cages. I have bruises all over my knees that have nothing to do with sadomasochism. I ruined my fresh manicure and had to take a cold shower at 1 AM because I was sweaty and filthy.
Starting last night, I launched my defensive military operation. Although I have only managed to bleach half the apartment thus far, I have laid out many, many traps. Fuck those Havahart things. You shoulda seen this mouse running around on Parrot’s floor! And how could it jump out of the cage and run away, uninjured? It would be like me jumping off the Chrysler building and jogging away!
The animals are on lockdown and all their food and water has been moved high off the cage floors. I put down poison traps, concealed snap traps (already caught one little bastard), and even the gruesome glue traps. After they got into Parrot’s cage, I have no mercy left for them. Parrot is probably big enough to kill one if it attacked her, but the little birds aren’t, and I can’t stand the idea of a rodent climbing in their house and scaring them at night. NOT ALLOWED.
New York City living, man. I never laid eyes on a wild (non-pet) rat until I moved to this area. In my home town, a person had to live in squalor–absolute filth and squalor–to have roaches or mice in the home. I had no idea rodents still infested cities in First World countries. It struck me as archaic, like something out of Charles Dickens.