Face Off, Part Two

I saw him again, oh yes.

The time: 12.30 am. The place: My hallway. The winner: Undecided.

I did not sleep well. I had pushed a towel against the bottom of my door (I’m sure only for my own psychological benefit and not for any real use) and I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

Eventually I had to pee, of course I did, my bladder is hateful. So I carefully opened my door. I had left the hall light on, cos mice don’t like light do they? But my flatmate had turned it off. I hit the switch, and there he was (twas a he, I have decided), bold as bloody brass, in the middle of the hall. Right you bugger, I am not having this. This is MY house! He pegged it down to the bathroom as I walked, so I wedged the front door open with my laundry basket, shoved more towels under the doors to block his way, and made for the kitchen. I shuffled past him and grabbed the broom, and stood with my body half in the kitchen and half in the hall. And then I stared at him for ten minutes.

I know it is ridiculous to be so wound up over such a tiny thing, and it is much more scared of me than I am of it, and all that, but still. I probably could have smushed him with the broom to be honest. He was so scared and totally still. I did feel sorry for him. A bit. But it’s one thing to set traps (which I don’t really like doing), its another to smash his head in with a broom. I have a line, you know? Plus, the clean up would be a bitch.

I plucked up the courage to actually move and he ran off in the direction of the front door. Success!! …And ran behind the door. Bollocks. Move the other way you dumbass! So I poked him a bit and he stopped in the door hinge. There could have been an ugly death right there, but I caught the door. Again, mouse guts all up the wall? I don’t want to deal with that. He ran back and hid behind the laundry basket. Motherf*cker! Just go away!

And then Houdini disappeared. Poof. Gone. I don’t know whether he legged it down the stairs while I was looking behind the basket, or if he’s found a way into it and is right now curled up happily in my dirty washing, but he was gone. And I was knackered, and so I went back to bed. Leaving the basket in the hallway, just in case.

I called the estate agents yesterday morning, who were very nice about it, and said they would send someone round, but if we thought it was just a one off could we try traps first? And while I’d rather they send round the bomb squad and fettle every inch of the flat, it is possible it got in through the front door (the chap upstairs works on his bike out front and leaves the door open) and hasn’t actually taken up residence with his mice pals. So I will get traps and we will see.

Thank god there’s cake.

Face Off, Part One

I have had better evenings.

I got home last night with every intention to run, but it was raining, oh no! So I took my shopping into the kitchen and hunted for food, went back to my bedroom for something, and when I came out I saw something small and black run across the hall.

I stopped, by heart beating fast, hands to my face. Oh god, what do I want it to be? Do I want it to be a mouse? A cockroach? An as yet undiscovered something that can walk through walls and has disappeared?

I edged down the hall like I was in a horror movie, slow, tiny steps. And there it was, the tiniest mouse you have ever seen, sitting in the bathroom doorway.

Bollocks.

What do I do what do I do? Well, I ask the internet of course, which gave me helpful answers, varying from ‘get a cat’ to the types of poison and traps that were most effective. All great suggestions, thank you Internet Land, but it didn’t solve my immediate problem of having a mouse IN MY HALLWAY! I called my brother (which shows my desperation cos he’s not the best in a crisis) who told me to try and force it outside, ‘But don’t let it jump on your face cos it might bite you and have rabies.’ Thanks bro, I totally would have let it jump on my face if you hadn’t said that, but now I’m good.

By the time I had opened the front door and got the broom from the kitchen, the little shit had disappeared. Double bollocks. I can’t sleep knowing it’s out there. What if I wake up with it on my FACE!?

I went out to buy some traps but alas, all the shops were shut by this time, and my trusty corner shop didn’t know what I was talking about. ‘Mouse trap? What is that?’ OK, moving on. I went home and de-crumbed the place, disinfected the kitchen and emptied all the bins. I still felt all icky though.

I went to bed and didn’t sleep, but we weren’t done, me and the mouse, oh no.

Flea Watch 2007

Last night when I was changing into my pjs I noticed some spots on my legs. They’re quite small but very red, slightly raised up, not itchy at that point. There are about seven on my left leg around the shin and calf area, and three or four on my right. A bit of Googling told me they are possibly flea bites. Not sure where I can have got flea bites from. I don’t have pets. I was wondering if they could be from work…do mice carry fleas? Are they chomping on my legs as I type this? Should I wrap elastic bands around the bottom of my trousers? What if they’re not mice? What if they are rats that have been dragging their asses across my desk and peeing on my keyboard? (I’m assuming it was pee as I don’t have anything that yellow…) Am I at this moment incubating some new form of bubonic plague?

So at 10.30 last night I stripped all my bedding, threw everything I had been wearing in the wash, hoovered my mattress, sprayed insect repellent on it (just for good measure), and remade my bed. All this was done by the light of one candle as Tony had told me, via my mum (of course I rang her, she has the answers to everything!) that if you put a candle in a bowl of water with some oil on, and place it in the room with the lights off, the fleas jump at the light and then fall into the water and die. I left the room to do the washing and watch some Jimmy Carr on the Beeb, even though I wanted to go to bed. An hour later I went in…and nothing. Nada. No fleas. Which either tells me this miracle flea trap doesn’t work, my fleas are way too smart to fall for it, or there aren’t any there.

I remembered this morning that downstairs possibly have a cat (there was a note on their door once warning the estate agent to not let it out). Could fleas be living in the hall carpet? Is this yet another, very valid reason, to hate my neighbours?

If they’re not flea bites, what the hell are they? Ugh. I feel unclean. And itchy. I need to go disinfect my desk. And myself.

EDIT:

I have acquired two new bites on my lower calf. My poor left leg is not happy. So I’m leaning toward it being a work flea and not a home flea, unless something took a chunk out of me as I walked down the stairs this morning? Huh. Anyway, will get some sort of flea killing powder/device.

In happier news, our box of goodies has arrived from the Netherlands, proving that it is in fact Christmas time. I have had a stroopwaffle (my faves) and plan on having some marzipan and chocolate later. I love that box. Sadly my work Christmas invite design wasn’t chosen this year. Nevermind.

A Night in the Life

EDIT: If you are searching for me on Google by ‘Teabelly’, this is the post that comes up. I have in fact written other stuff beyond this, so hit ‘Home’ above, and it’ll take you to my latest post.

Last night I went to a book launch for work (not one of ours, but Harvard. They have actual money for events like this and we, well, don’t.) It was at a little place on Greek Street that had weird sloping floors and lot of art on the walls, including a Picasso (which led to some debate about whether it could be real), and several naked men which led to a discussion about Michelangelo and how he wasn’t really fond of drawing women so would just draw them to look like men and then stick boobs on. I have no idea if this is true.

These kind of things are always a bit awkward. Full of people I have nothing in common with and who I have no idea how to speak to. I am not sure I would want to speak to them even. So I stood with Jenny and Rebekah all night, when they weren’t busy and I wasn’t handing out canapes (Note: Handing out the food does not mean you get first dibs on the food.) Jenny is much better at these things than I am and was talking about how to mingle when a woman came in and stood near us, fussing over her drink and bag and phone. And so we spoke to her for a bit and then she got a call from her friend, turns out she was in the wrong place. Not even the right building. Oh well, she got a free drink. Our mingling sucks. Although later we felt sorry for two blokes who had been standing together all night by themselves and spoke to them. I think there’s a reason they were by themselves, and that reason is dullness.

I put my bag under the table but then had to move from it and was worried about leaving it there. I was trying to keep an eye on it, then said really they aren’t probably the stealing kind.

Rebekah: Carrie, half these people can’t even bend over.

Very true. And my bag didn’t move all night.

Apparently Melvyn Bragg had said he was coming, but seeing as I could trip over Melvyn Bragg and not know it was him, even after looking him up on Google Images, I don’t know if he was there. Doubt it. There was a man who looked like Douglas Hurd. Most likely not Douglas Hurd. But Jenny did see Will Young. Not at our party, but still.

This entry is about as rocking as my evening.

This morning was the bus ride from hell. My bus was not going anywhere and I was trapped miles from the tubes, so I had to wait. To be fair I probably could have walked in the time it took. I finally made it to Angel and got on a tube, but I am not in the best of moods. To add insult to injury there were mouse droppings on me desk again this morning. Just my desk. And if they are pooing they must be weeing also. Oh god, I’m going to get salmonella.

In Search of the Lesser Known Black Cardy and Other Stories

Girly stuff, so unlike me.

Gah. I made the mistake of going shopping on Oxford Street in my lunch hour. I always walk the back way off the main street as it’s less crowded and you can actually, you know, walk with some speed and not spend ages trapped behind large groups of tourists whose sole purpose on this Earth seems to be to get in your way and slow you down (deep breath). I had three main aims. Buy a black cardigan. Get a book from Waterstone’s. Buy a birthday card. I managed one.

Do nice, plain black cardigans not exist in this world anymore or something? Did I miss the memo and the going out of style end of the line sale? You can have big fluffy black cardigans, ones with frills, huge knitted things with roll top necks that look itchy, cropped ones (!!!), that come above your waist, ones without sleeves, ones with poofy sleeves, lacy ones (dear lord), but a plain, normal, none fancy black cardy I can wear for work instead of my one jumper I have at the moment that is presentable? Non. I have even looked on the internet. I may have to wander to the dreaded Top Shop tomorrow, cos I couldn’t be arsed today, but their website didn’t look very promising either. Can’t wait to go home and go to a proper shopping mall and look around with actual time to browse without some impatient person up my arse. Who would have thought Meadowhall could be so appealing? I am so desperate for new clothes.

And Waterstone’s didn’t have my book.

But I got the card at least.

Yesterday the mice man came in to have a look around at work and gave us a report on the situation. Yes we have mice. We also have wood worm, which, turns out, isn’t a worm at all, but a beetle in this case. Who knew? They are going to bring in steel wool and traps, which I’m a little worried about. Am I going to come in one morning and find a dead mouse sitting by my desk? I mean, I can deal with a lot of things first thing in the morning, battling my way to work, sleep deprivation, but mouse carcass? May tip me over the ever crumbling edge. Also, mice carry salmonella. Didn’t know that either. I really need to buy some antibacterial wipes because I don’t think the polish is going to cut it with the unseen but deadly mouse urine.

My life is oh so glamorous.

The Chosen One

So I wasn’t the next Chosen One (ie, the next Buffy, a Slayer), so I was always picked last for games at school, and I wasn’t the girl the best looking boy wanted on his arm. So what I say, seeing as, it’s official, the mouse at work likes me best. How do I know this? It keeps leaving me little presents. No, not nicely wrapped gifts that show me it cares, oh no, every morning I show up and there it is, a little brown poo on my desk. Always in the same place, next to my diary. Do you think he sits there of an evening, having a bit of a read whilst doing his business? Thinking ‘Hmm, I wonder what Carrie is up to this week?’ Perhaps I should start writing little stories in the margins to amuse him, or draw funny pictures?

Or maybe it does mean I’m special. Maybe it’s good luck and I will win the lottery?  More likely he’s just decided my desk is his territory and I should move on over and give him room.

Nevermind, the exterminators are coming soon…

Ewwwwwwwww

Last week at work Rebekah came in to find a bread roll she’d left on the top of the fridge had a rather suspicious hole in it. We believe it had been chewed on by a mouse. So we have mouse-proofed all the kitchen, and I hadn’t thought anything more about it really, because it’s not like I’m going to come in and find one sitting on my desk staring at me…

But I hadn’t counted on Rebekah’s cry this morning of ‘There’s mouse poo on my desk!’ I thought it might be something else mistaken for it, but no, a closer (not too close) inspection proved otherwise. And there was loads on my desk behind my computer too! Ugh.

Have spent the last half an hour cleaning my desk and thinking I’ll never eat my lunch here again.

But, ok, it’s Friday so that’s nice. And we have a big new tv in the living room waiting to be tuned in (we have terrible reception though so need freeview box plugging in), and a ladder coming tomorrow so I can stop the hideous smoke alarm beep and change more light bulbs. Oh yes, and sleep lots.