slumming it

There’s mouse or a rat or some sort of animal in my kitchen that’s been shitting on the counter.

Next to the dishes. Next to the food. Around the sink. It’s lovely, really.

We set out four traps: two live catch traps (my roommate’s a saint), and two snapping, killer traps (I bought those … the thing shat on my plates).

This morning when I woke up, there were 3 pellets of mouse shit right next to the snapper trap.

We told my landlord – but she sent the exterminator to the wrong apartment. Tonight I caught her in the laundry room, trying to fix the fuse box after floors five and six of our lovely Crestmont apartment complex lost power.

She was unsuccessful at fixing the fuse.

I asked for some specifics on when the exterminator would come to OUR apartment … and she told me I ought to have a cat.

She has two, and doesn’t have any shit on her counters.

The exterminator might be able to make it out tomorrow. Might.