There's a mouse in my apartment

In my third year of university we discovered we had a mouse in our flat.

So, the three of us each set up a mousetrap and decided to make a competition out of it.

Whoever's trap caught it got two free beers and didn't have to do dishes for a week.

 

Cockroaches are a thousand times worse than mice.

 

What King Canuck said.

 

Who won?

 

Me.

They didn't have the cheese positioned properly. The damn mouse took theirs without setting off the trap.

 

Rookies.

 

Lived in a semi detached house in downtown Toronto back in the early 80's.

We used to find a cockroach every so often.

Went away for two weeks in the summer and when we came back, I still remember turning on the kitchen light and there were thousands of them.

They're really disgusting and it took us two days to fumigate the kitchen.

 

Yeah, but we used to compete over EVERYTHING.

But we were young, in our early 20's and by definition, stupid.

 

I think I'd have moved. Just left everything and started a new life elsewhere.

 

Don't waste your money on those ultrasonic deals that promise to chase mice out of the house. They don't work.

Be sure to seal everything up as tight as possible. Use that expanding foam sealant around sink pipes.

 

We've got a sonuvabitch in our house right now. Never had this experience before, not even in some of the craphole apartments I had as a struggling young adult.

The rat bastard has outsmarted every effort my husband has made so far, to the point where he's almost getting Stockholm Syndrome in admiration for the little bitch. THose ultrasonic things aren't worth a damn, the get him in there and close the trap door thing had no effect. The regular kind of trap? Little bastard just scoffs.

I've only seen him once. But we hear him between the floors. God help us if he starts not being able to find something to eat and starts chewing up wires.

He once somehow got intside a drawer in my desk, where there was a small (very thick plastic) bag of chocolate-covered almonds. Gnawed through the bag, absconded with every single one (probably a dozen or so).

Seems to have a sweet tooth. Bastard once made six round trips from up on the counter, where there was a box of Whippets cookies, down behind the stove, back up, up and down six times. Hubby found them all behind the stove.

None of the various trap efforts have worked. Don't think hubby's tried the glue thing yet.

I tell ya, I'd rather have a live one around than find a dead one. But it's getting insane.

Once, when we had absolutely locked up everything, he even chewed up a pack of cigs.

 

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