By Sarah Pye
Staff Writer
I have a new roommate.
His name is Mickey. He’s about three inches long, gray, small tail. He may have a friend, Minnie, though her existence has not yet been confirmed.
On the upside, he’s fairly quiet, a non-smoker and doesn’t eat too much.
On the downside, he’s a mouse.
Yes folks, that is correct. I currently share my living space with not only three other women, but also with a rodent. And we’re not talking about the cute nose-wiggling kind that runs on a wheel, here, nor am I referring to a kid in a foam-rubber suit signing autographs at a theme park.
No, we’re talking vermin.
The media — and this is just one more example that they are responsible for all evils that plague the planet, up to and including global warming and Eminem — often try to portray mice as sneaker-wearing Stuart Little types. Not so, friends. Mickey has given me no reason to believe that he wishes to become a valued member of my family.
There were always rumors that I shared my general living space with unwelcome critters. But until I saw one with my own eyes, the thought of a mouse in the house resided in my mind in the same folder I use to keep tabloid headlines like “Cher Births Tony Blair’s Love Child!” Mildly entertaining, but of no general concern to me personally.
But since my first mouse sighting (Black Saturday, as it is now commonly referred to), I have been on Full Red Alert for further developments in MickeyWatch.
I find myself opening doors cautiously, uttering loudly as I enter, “OK! Well! I guess I’ll just be going into my room now!” (Stomp, stomp, stomp.) “Yes, sir, just going to open up this door and come on in! Yep! Right now!”
I also find myself leaping distances upward of four feet from the floor onto my bed, in order to prevent my feet from entering the dreaded Scurry Range around the bed’s perimeter. If anything decides to come shooting out from under there, I do not want to risk my toes coming in contact with it.
Interestingly, mine is not the only room in the house experiencing overcrowding. Black Saturday also marked the demise of Ralph the Lounge Mouse, bludgeoned to death with one brave student’s baseball cap.
Some students, distraught over Ralph’s demise, demanded that we try to trap the mice, unharmed, and release them into the wild. Now, if we define the “wild” as “in the path of oncoming traffic,” I might be persuaded to accept this plan. But we are not running a cable fishing show. I refuse to catch and release vermin; especially vermin that someday might decide they want to sleep in my bed.
Others suggested that we bring in a broom to try and beat the little pests out. Great. It’ll be one big Whack-A-Mole game in here. Just like the carnival.
My personal current plan for ridding us all of our unwanted visitors is somewhere along the lines of lighting a match and torching the place. Now, don’t be alarmed; I’m not really going to resort to anything so drastic.
Unless Mickey winds up in my bed, that is.
— Support the death penalty for Ralph the Lounge Mouse?E-mail Sarah Pye at sarah.pye@pepperdine.edu.
March 13, 2003
