Friday, March 16, 2012

My First Apartment(s) Part II

Part of being a pseudo adult and living on my own means taking care of things for myself.  
Unpleasant things. 

Sure, bill paying is never a treat, but what I'm talking about are the unpleasantries that you always just hoped that mom and dad would deal with. 

As I mentioned before, I've lived in some pretty weird places.  An unfortunate reality of some older/budget housing situations is mice.  

Dirty, disgusting mice.
Mice that you can't just ask mom or dad to clean up and make go away, especially seeing as mom and dad live hundreds of miles away. 

I was really fortunate growing up in that I never had to deal with rodents of any sort.  My closest exposure came from cartoons, which had me believe that mice and rats had sunny dispositions and ran around singing and playing in tiny suits and tutus: 

Whereas reality looks a little more like this:

Whenever I was so unfortunate as to encounter a rodent (or evidence thereof) I usually ended up screaming all the way to the nearest hardware store, where I would buy an obscene amount of the quick kill traps that allowed you to avoid actually touching or seeing the dead animal.

Fortunately, I own a cat now, which I think in the end actually costs less than all of the traps I bought.  

Although I'm pretty sure she's too stupid sweet to know what to do if she were actually faced with a mouse.  

In the end, it all worked out for the best.  I own the kitty I've wanted since I was 5, and I haven't seen any rodents in ages. 

But I'm still mad at you for lying to me, Walt.*

*I'm not kidding.  You're totally on my enemies list.  And yes, I know you're dead.  I don't care.  You're a lying liar who lied. Jerk.

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