In Which I Become a Heap of Girly Hysteria

24 Feb

In the four years I’ve lived in New York City, I’ve only ever had to kill a full-size disgusting cockroach once and it was after NYC basically flooded for three days so no one was that surprised. When I killed the roach (in a bath towl, dripping wet, with a 90-second spray of hairspray, BY THE WAY) I was shaken up. I felt gross and creeped out. But I was glad that nasty little giant thing was dead.

Recently, I tweeted that I saw a mouse in my bedroom. I saw the mouse once, and then twice, and then three times.


After almost a full week of knowing there was a furry little rodent scampering around my bedroom, I emailed my landlord. He plugged up a hole under my radiator and set a trap in my bedroom. He set one in the kitchen, too, but that one’s still there. I know you know where this is going.

Four days after he set the trap, I reclined onto my bed to have a chat with C on the phone. I leaned into my pillows, felt my muscles relax and then – I shrieked and hung up on C.

There, just under my radiator, was the back half of the furry little gray rodent. It was clearly dead. The trap worked. I should be happy, right?

Not so much. I burst into what I call Girly Hysteria, but might better be likened to Kristen-Bell-with-a-sloth only on the TOTAL OPPOSITE END OF THE FEELINGS SPECTRUM. Big fat tears rolled down my face while I laughed maniacally. I curled up onto my bed, half crying, half laughing, rocking back and forth wrapped in blankets.

I mean, I turned into a complete crazy person.

Here’s the thing: I’m not scared of mice. Quite the opposite, actually: I had a pet rat when I was little! Her name was Squeaker and she was my very first pet that wasn’t a fish and I loved her so much. I blame Squeaker (and Adam’s rat, Nibbles) for my hysterics. All I could think of was how the mouse had suffered and how his potential family didn’t have him anymore!

Really, those traps are terribly inhumane, but I am sane enough to realize I could not have a mouse just chillaxing under my heater/dresser/bed for all eternity.

Boy-roommate was a remarkably good sport during this ordeal; I give him a lot of credit. He cleaned up the dead mouse even though he was totally grossed out and didn’t want to do it. He found my reaction hilarious, which made me laugh harder and cry less.

After I calmed down, I told him we were bound for life. He replied eloquently,

“Yeah. Shit just got real.”

8 Responses to “In Which I Become a Heap of Girly Hysteria”

  1. marriagecoach1 February 24, 2012 at 12:14 pm #

    The trap is not inhumane at all. It is extremely quick and painless on the mouse. Relax, us guys love rescuing damsels in distress.

    John Wilder

  2. Caryn February 26, 2012 at 10:05 pm #

    When I was little we had mice in our garage. My sister and I insisted and pestered my Dad to get rid of them, but then when we found out HOW he was going to do it, we screamed and threw a fit and refused to let him. I think he wound up giving the poison food so he didn’t ‘trap’ them. It really is so inhumane. Senior year we found mouse poop in our kitchen drawers. so gross. I can’t believe you lasted a week before calling your landlord!!

  3. marriagecoach1 February 27, 2012 at 10:25 am #

    Trust me rat poison is way more inhumane than traps. The mice die in agonizing pain through internal hemorraging gasping for breath. One snap an it turns out their lights permanently with no pain.

  4. terra February 28, 2012 at 7:19 am #

    Ick. I’m pretty sure there has been a mouse in our house as one point, but I’ve never seen it and now we have cats so hopefully I never, ever will.

  5. stealthypoo February 29, 2012 at 7:48 pm #

    I remember when I was a kid, I tried to free a mouse from sticky trap because I felt bad for him.. I also thought water would somehow release the glue. It did not. He just stood there stuck with water around him. My parents thought he got scared and pissed himself because there was water on the trap. I let them believe that, so he lost both his life and dignity. Poor thing.

  6. BlackLOG March 1, 2012 at 4:54 am #

    When I killed the roach (in a bath towel, dripping wet, with a 90-second spray of hairspray, BY THE WAY)
    Wow, I didn’t realise New York had such sophisticated cockroaches….The ones in the UK don’t use towels they just run around naked – also can I just check, were you trying to kill it or style it? Basic styling rules for Cockroaches, no more than about 20-seconds of hairspray 3 times a day….

    As for the mouse – I have a mental picture in my mind (it’s marginally better than hearing voices and you don’t tend to get sent to an institution for admitting it….) of you, on a stool, with baggy wrinkled stockings around your angles – screaming “THOMAS!!!” (your room mate is not called Tom is he?) as the mouse (Lets call him Jerry…) shakes one of the legs of the stool….Thanks Chuck Jones you have left me thinking cartoon thoughts for most of my adult life….


  1. Sorry, but this post is all about dead animals. In a funny way, I swear. « Guide to Being Awesome - March 9, 2012

    […] know how I feel about dirty mice dying in my bedroom; can you imagine the trauma I’d suffer if this poor cat was just starving and yelling to […]

  2. the controversy of conspiracy « JRFibonacci's blog: partnering with reality - April 26, 2012

    […] In Which I Become a Heap of Girly Hysteria ( […]

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