Things about wars on mice

Alright.  This is getting ridiculous.

I have one phobia. One. It’s irrational (hence, phobia), and stupid. But very real.

Mice. Ugh. I hate them.

If there’s a mouse in my house, I have a hard time sleeping. I imagine them crawling on me, and every time the wind blows and bends a window screen or makes the house creak, I am convinced it’s mice infesting and breeding in the walls.

But I’m pretty sure the universe has decided my phobia is so neurotic, it’s going to make it a goal to mock me as much as humanly possible.

Every place I have ever lived has had mice, with the (somewhat odd) exception of my apartment senior year of college (although my roommate had cats for half that year, which could have contributed.).

When I moved into my apartment in Boston, the absolute first thing I saw in our kitchen was a dead mouse stuck in a trap.  Naturally, I freaked out, called my sister, and waited for my roommate to come and clean it up. And barely slept that first night, despite assurances from the landlord and the exterminator they were convinced that was the last one they just hadn’t been able to catch.

Fast forward 2+ months, and surprisingly, there’s actually been no additional evidence of any mice!  Until now…

As a mouse phobic, I’m highly sensitive to mouse droppings, and based on the tiny size of these droppings, we’re looking at baby mice. No.  FUCK THAT.  I’m not having fucking baby mice making my house into their breeding ground.  That’s literally my worst nightmare.  Nuh uh.

War.

Mouse war #1, earlier this year in a different city, started with peppermint, was taken care of by blocking up holes and entry points, and our feelings were mollified by D-Con tablets left out.

Fuck that. This time I’m starting with the D-Con.

Which I sort of bought without consulting all my roommates.  But I don’t really understand people who don’t want mice to get the hell out of their house by any means necessary. ‘Cuz I’m a bad person apparently.

It’s time for these fuckers to die.

God, I hate mice.

(Ironically enough, in 3 days I’m going to see a very big mouse, and I couldn’t be happier.  It might help that a) he’s not real, b) he’s in Florida.)

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