Seated comfortably in my ass nook on the couch, after a good day's work, I'm ready for a little mindless entertainment so I flip on HBO On Demand and select to watch the episode of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' I missed last night. I put up my unshod feet and press play.
Something darts across the floor.
Under the couch.
I get up, slap on some shoes and move the couch, thinking it's a bigger-than-average cockroach (the kind you see in Florida) I could squish. It's a decent-sized mouse. We catch him in an empty trashcan and slipped a large drawing board under the opening to hold him. After foiling a minor jailbreak we take the elevator down and tromp out to find a place that seems far enough away from the building. We let him go and a black cat perks up on a stoop nearby. The little mousie runs for the nearest cover: a trashcan. That's where we leave him.
We haven't had any trouble with rodents in the past, besides my roommate's encounter with a squirrel that wandered into the apartment through my window, before I bought a screen. He just bound across the floor and looked up at my roommate, reading a book. My roommate likened his expression to something along the lines of "awwww, shit." He immediately turned tail and scuttled back out the way he came. We see him now and again in the courtyard, and have since dubbed him Mr. Bill Nutley.
It all reminds me of the six months I babysat a python while my friend was in Australia. I'd buy mice to feed him, naming the mice the most adorable things I could think of before tossing them into the fray. Stuff like Dr. Snuggles Q. Mousington or Tiddles McSqueak. The good doctor actually ended up pissing off the python so much that it literally tore him in two. Kind of a horrible sight, but a fitting end for a mouse with an honorary PhD who fought like a Spartan warrior 'til the very last.
Something darts across the floor.
Under the couch.
I get up, slap on some shoes and move the couch, thinking it's a bigger-than-average cockroach (the kind you see in Florida) I could squish. It's a decent-sized mouse. We catch him in an empty trashcan and slipped a large drawing board under the opening to hold him. After foiling a minor jailbreak we take the elevator down and tromp out to find a place that seems far enough away from the building. We let him go and a black cat perks up on a stoop nearby. The little mousie runs for the nearest cover: a trashcan. That's where we leave him.
We haven't had any trouble with rodents in the past, besides my roommate's encounter with a squirrel that wandered into the apartment through my window, before I bought a screen. He just bound across the floor and looked up at my roommate, reading a book. My roommate likened his expression to something along the lines of "awwww, shit." He immediately turned tail and scuttled back out the way he came. We see him now and again in the courtyard, and have since dubbed him Mr. Bill Nutley.
It all reminds me of the six months I babysat a python while my friend was in Australia. I'd buy mice to feed him, naming the mice the most adorable things I could think of before tossing them into the fray. Stuff like Dr. Snuggles Q. Mousington or Tiddles McSqueak. The good doctor actually ended up pissing off the python so much that it literally tore him in two. Kind of a horrible sight, but a fitting end for a mouse with an honorary PhD who fought like a Spartan warrior 'til the very last.
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