Rat carcass in alley this evening. Tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.

Sad when you almost step in vermin, and the first panel of Watchmen is the thing that leaps to mind. At least I didn't skid in it, like once before.

Aw, rats!

Feb. 23rd, 2007 04:43 pm
You always wondered what really goes into Kentucky Fried Chicken and Taco Bell food, right?
So, we came back late Sunday night from a weekend away to find another mouse snared by one of our traps.

Ew, that's disgusting! )

Surely there can't have been more than five mice in the house. Right?
I'm just sayin'.
Okay, for everyone who thought they did indeed want to see the flattened mouse, here you go. I guess it really isn't as flat as all that, but it's certainly flatter than a mouse should be.

(There's a little blood in the picture, just so you know.)
The other night, Laura and I were startled by screaming and running sounds from the apartment upstairs. I was up to my elbows in cleaning, so Laura investigated. Turns out the three roommates up there had spotted a mouse. And had named it Ernest.

When our landlord started renovating the apartment upstairs (and he's still not finished), the cockroaches moved downstairs to ours. Just as we were getting them under control, the mice showed up. We killed one mouse within an hour of laying out our first traps. It took a couple of weeks more, plus a long trip out of town, to kill our second. We've spotted other mice at various times, and Ella has even chased one to ground beneath the oven.

The gruesome murder )
When you get back from a trip, check the mousetraps immediately. Don't wait a couple of days.

I waited a couple of days. One of the mousetraps, way back underneath a large piece of furniture, was, ahem, occupied. It had flipped over in the process of snapping, and said occupant was, er, stuck to the floor.

Let's just say that disposing of that little installation and cleaning up after it was not the most fun I've had in recent memory.

Well, at least we didn't have a roach bomb explode on us, like some of our fellow Astorians apparently did.
They say that stepping in dogshit first thing in the morning is good luck, right? Please tell me that's what they say.

Oh, well, I guess it wasn't as bad as the day in November when I was carrying Laura's brother's suitcase out to the cab in the street and I stepped—and slid—in the dead rat.

Gotta love New York.

April 2014

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