At first I didn’t want to believe it… but the evidence spoke for itself, plus mouse droppings can only be confused with bird seed in my apartment. And my canary hadn’t been in my bedroom. F*ck. F*ckitty f*ck f*ck f*ck. F*ck. F*CK. F*CK!!!

And in my bedroom? Of ALL places? Who could blame the poor creatures, it IS the warmest room of my apartment the shoe-box. [the rant on how cold my tiny apartment is I will save for another day] Since discovering the fatal evidence on Friday, I haven’t been able to sleep at home. Imagine the NIGHTMARE of a little mouse crawling over my face, and getting tangled in my hair? GAAAAHHHHH… I did return yesterday, to collect some clothes and I noticed the smell. Until yesterday my apartment smelled like a Jo Malone candle, but now a distinct pet shop scent has infested the place.

When I moved into my apartment I asked my landlord if there were mice in the building. He obviously said no. He obviously lied. I found evidence when I was thoroughly cleaning before moving all my stuff in. But I convinced myself that the droppings I’d found inside a kitchen drawer had just never been cleaned by the slob (cannot think of another word to describe the dirt&grime-fan girl who lived there before me). By the time I was properly settled in it was spring, and mice do enjoy the outdoors when it’s not freezing. But it’s getting cold now and… well… wouldn’t you come back to the warmth of a 100-year-old radiator? I would, if I were a mouse…

But I’m not a mouse, and I do not like living with mice (even though I had a couple as pets when I was little). I have already shared my space with mice and I swore to myself (Ha! Idiot…) that this situation would never happen again as I was ill very often. It’s time to be drastic, and thorough and to ensure the f*ckers don’t even THINK about coming in to my apartment.

Operation Mouse will be unleashed tomorrow. Anyone who has had mice knows for a fact that humane traps are as useful as teaching your goldfish how to lip-sync: you like the idea, what’s more you think you are contributing to some sort of nature discovery and humanization of an animal but it’s just dumb. The % of success of a mouse getting into the trap and staying there is minuscule (I have experimented with these devices myself to know the ugly truth). And if you are lucky enough to catch a live mouse, you have to get into a car and drive kilometers away because if you don’t, the cunning little sh*t will find his way back to your house.

The best and most effective solution is the mouse trap. Peanut butter is proven to be more alluring to the rodents than cheese and guess who’s got a family-sized peanut butter jar at home waiting to be used for a destiny worse than death but oh so critical in keeping my sanity? The plan is to cover the strategic places with these traps tomorrow evening and return on Tuesday to see the results. Cotton wire will also be used; you can fill in little holes and cracks (it never ceases to astound me how mice can fit in the tiniest of places) and they won’t nibble through it, unlike most things.

If these haven’t worked, then Plan B, or P for poison, is kicking in. I’m not particularly a fan of poison because the mouse will eat it up and choose to die inside a wall (or wherever his nest is) where it will begin to rot. Anyone smelled a rotting mouse? I have, and it’s just like a gas leak. I remember once in London having to call British Gas because I thought we had a gas leak at home and… nope, no gas leak, just a rotting mouse. And a very awkward conversation with the British Gas guy.

I hope the next time I update my blog it’s with good news about the end of this ugly episode but, in the meantime… WISH ME LUCK!!