Rodent Trauma

Hang around me for more than an hour and you learn how much I hate mice. It's a visceral reaction -- they traumatize me. Luckily, I can go long periods in my apartment without seeing one, or the evidence of one. This past stretch was about four years.

While I was away, I had a handyman doing some work in my apartment and he reported that he saw and captured a mouse. He left out glue traps -- which was the first thing I noticed when I returned and opened the front door to my apartment.

Well, those traps remained empty until today. When I walked into my living room, I saw that the one trap was moved (from against the wall to the middle of the hallway) and I realized there was a dead (or so I thought) mouse in it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate even looking at it. Just the sight of a mouse sends me reeling.

In the past, my system was to take about two yards of paper towels, drop them on the glue trap, mat them down with a broom so that the paper sticks to the glue and then sweep it into a bag or box and out the door.

I was expecting a grocery delivery, including, yes, paper towels. I was down to literally one sheet. Literally. I placed it over the glue trap and was really trying to be brave but the paper wouldn't stick and I saw that the mouse was still alive which sent me fleeing.

I gathered up my courage again, went back, and even with a dustpan I couldn't get traction to scoop it up.

I knew my handyman was returning. I knew the grocery delivery guy would be coming soon, but I wanted it OUT. I called Mary to talk to her voice mail and left this weepy, pitiful message and as I was rambling, it occurred to me I could call the super.

The phone number for the super is out by the mailboxes so I went out there and then thought maybe he's working in one of the other buildings on my block so I stuck my head out the door and realized that there were people walking by who might very well be interested in making $20 for 5 seconds of work.

I was watching for someone like in a doorman's uniform, but then I saw this crackhead who goes through the garbage cans who I've seen before. Does he want to make money? Uh, yeah! Is he available? Uh, yeah! Do I want him in my home? Uh, no.

I went back and forth while he rooted through the garbage cans, and then decided to go for it. "Do you want to make some money fast?" I called out.

Normally, a person would say "What do I have to do?" but he didn't bother with that, just said yes and came running. I told him I had a mouse in a trap, and he said, "And you're afraid of it..." and I said yes.

Ok, he said all he needed was a piece of cardboard and a bag and I said I have all of that... and I was shaking really and I have to say he was the kindest, most compassionate person. He was so soothing. He kept saying, "I'm gonna take care of you, baby. Don't be afraid, baby. I'm gonna make it all right for you, baby. Don't worry, baby..." Over and over. Hell, I wished I'd taped it to play back for myself in times of trouble.

So I had three $20 bill and three $1 bills. In my mind, the job was worth more than $3, so I gave him $20 -- that was well worth it to me. He probably could have gotten more out of me, but he knew a good thing when he saw it.

He picked up the glue trap in his bare hands and put it in the bag. I handed him the $20 and off he went, bag in hand. I was so pleased with myself.

Until, of course, I couldn't stop washing my hands. My groceries came, and I washed my hands before I touched them. I put them away and washed my hands. I was going to make a sandwich for lunch and washed my hands. I wanted to wash them again (and did) before I ate my sandwich. Of course, my hands didn't come close to the mouse.

I was thinking later that this was a good lesson for me. Brian (that's his name) is a dirty, twitchy crackhead going through the garbage. Yet, he is also this compassionate, kind person. He really was a calm, soothing presence in time of trauma.