On Sunday, I walked home from yoga listening to “Move Your Feet” by Junior Senior (see ‘move your feet’ post) on my iPod, feeling goofy and happy. In hand, I had a salad and a large chai from Tryst, and when I got home, I danced up the stairs. My roommate was on the couch, laughing at me. I walked into the kitchen to get a bowl for my salad, and that’s when I screamed.
I saw a mouse on the stove that ran behind the microwave. I ran out of the kitchen shuddering. Ew ew.
I recovered on the couch. A few minutes later, my roommate and I decided to go into the kitchen to see where the mouse could have gone. Was there a hole behind the microwave? My roommate also suggested we talk loudly to scare the bajeezus out of that mouse.
So there we were, on the other side of the kitchen from the counters, talking loudly and both tense from fear. We stood near each other and we both leaned over to see if we could see the mouse under the microwave. We got really quiet.
Then my roommate started screaming, and I guess I started screaming, and we pushed each other to run out of the room. I didn’t see anything, but she saw the mouse move.
About two hours later, after watching an episode of “The Wire,” we got the courage to set traps in the kitchen (from two years ago, my roommate had a similar problem). I smeared peanut butter on the top inside of the trap, and my roommate set them down.
There haven’t been any sighting since, though we both talk to the mouse when we walk in the kitchen to keep it in its hole. The traps haven’t been touched. And we named it Mouse McNutty, after what Bubs calls Officer McNulty in ‘The Wire.’ (Yes, we’re obsessed.)