The clock is ticking and moving day is drawing near. I have done quite a bit around the condo in terms of cleaning. I’m nearly out of boxes so I may have to order a few online for my kitchen. Most of my bedroom is packed up. Most of my office. The hall closet is all tidied and items are stored in bins with lid for easy packing.
I love tote bins. How did we live before these were invented?
The battle of the mice continues and I killed one last night. I saw it crawl out of the heating vent. It didn’t look right. It was a baby mouse and was moving very slow. I think that means it was dying. I shouted at it and it barely flinched. It only started moving slowly when I hovered over it with a broom. I hit the vents a couple of times but the mouse disappeared.
I grabbed a flashlight and found the mouse’s tail. I also found the entry point for where they are coming in from. They chewed large holes under the heating vent that weren’t there before. It’s gross. I also found droppings in MY OVEN under the burners. Needless to say, I’m relying on sandwiches, and my rice cooker for the next week. I’ll probably order in too. So, once again, my recipe book will be put on hold until I move and settle into the new place. I gloved up. Masked up and was prepared to scoop the dead mouse up — and it fucking MOVED. I screamed again.
The mouse disappeared. I saw it again moments later. It was moving very slowly with a limp. I kind of felt bad for it. I covered it with a pot. I knew it was going to die but I didn’t want to hit it again. I don’t want to clean up that mess. Or worse. Having the mouse die in a place I can’t get to and then dealing with the smell. So gross.
Finally. I cried to the building owners. Apparently, contractors were out last week but they didn’t bother to let me know. I’ve told them before – a knock on the door doesn’t count as contacting me. They have to call me to arrange appointments or send an email. But you know what? People don’t care. They don’t listen. How hard would have it been to call me ahead of time and say, hey, we’re in your building. Can we come inspect it?
Three years I’ve been complaining about mice. And I’m tired of it. So. Tired. Of it.
I’m slowly getting things packed and trying to make sure I don’t take a mouse with me. All that’s left is my office and dishes in the kitchen. I plan on moving the pantry food over the night before the move. And stuff from the freezer. But I’m also trying to clean it out as much as possible.
Next up is cleaning the fridge. I’m also working on the toilets and trying to get rid of water stains. At this point, I’m starting not to care. The relationships between tenant and landlord has been damaged beyond repair.
I let the owners know the power went out last night – second time this week. “You’ll have to notify your utility for that. It’s out of our scope.” Excuse me? It was the whole building I said. He repeated his comment again. And I ignored it – and washed my hands clean of the situation.
Why should I care, if no one else does?
I really should have moved last year when I said I wanted to.
So, that’s where we are this Monday. Waiting for ice to melt outside so I can take out the poor mice and send it off with my weekly garbage. I’m a murderer. A mouse murderer. And I hope I never have to be again.