The Latest of Mouse-Related Events

One of the things about having cats and therefor fleas is that you have to vacuum a lot.  Most of the carpet gets vacuumed every day.  Other places, that are just damned annoying to have to deal with, only get it about once a week.  Of course, some areas of your house are pretty isolated from the general cat issues and only have to be cleaned once a season.  My closet is one of those places.

I've written about my closet before . . . in so much as to mention it is a bastion of mouse activity.  Or it was. We've not caught a mouse in there in a while, but in my head, like, when I visualize the interior of the closet, it's this one giant ball of mice from floor to ceiling. They're all squirming and squeaking and ready to bite anyone who dares to peek inside. In other words, I fucking hate my closet. I consider it only in terms of fear and dread.

However, the cleaning of it could no longer be avoided. I announced to my roommate that I would be vacuuming out the closet and he says to me, "Yeah, while you're at it, can you get that mouse trap out?"  And I said no. And he said I was being insane. And I said irrational fear. . . . but somehow in the midst of this, I agreed to get the mouse trap out.

So I put it off for another two weeks . .  .

Eventually though, I knew it had to happen. I ventured into my room and removed all the protective barriers between Closet of Unholy Mouse Terrors and my room. Strangely enough, I didn't end up dying in a sea of mice swarming out of it.  I'm still surprised by this. I located the mouse trap, which didn't have a mouse on it. You know this to be true as I am still alive and tying instead of dead on my floor from a heart attack.

I took a stick and sprang the mouse trap with it.  I jumped, of course. Yes, even though I knew I was springing it, knew and even WATCHED it happen, I still jumped. The mouse trap bounced out of my reach and I had to fish the damned thing out.  Then I took a bag, placed it over my hand, picked up the mouse trap, and rolled the bag around it. I was NOT going to touch that thing.

And yes, I realize that being as petrified of a mouse trap as I am of mice is possibly more irrational than being afraid of mice.  But I guess that's the horrific beauty of irrational fears.  There really is no logic. I think the mouse trap is going to snap on me, even though the thing has already been sprung. I think it will lure mice to me, that it has small bits of mouse on it, that when I touch it, I will have visions of every mouse that ever died on it.

Oh yes, this is all very irrational.  It's just a big ball of pure crazy, really.

At least my closet is clean now.