Last night, I had a fun catch up dinner at Dino with one of my oldest friends in the world and her younger sister. They were in New York looking at law schools for little sister. I got home around 10:30 and heard conversation towards Emily's room. I wandered back and before I saw Emily, I noticed Emily's rain boots. On her feet.
This was my first indication that there's an issue. A rodent issue.
I walked into her room and now had full view of the folding chair and box lid maze/trap in place to catch the mouse that was in her closet. Roommate Emily and her visiting friend Emily quickly filled me in on the mouse saga so far. I put my bag down, shut my bedroom door (in case there was an escape!) and grabbed the swiffer. Yes, the swiffer.
With deep nervous breaths, we prepared for attack. With Roommate Emily holding a box lid, friend Emily holding an empty trash can and me with the swiffer, we slowly started pulling luggage and bags out of the closet. After emptying all but one bag, we saw a glimpse of the mouse scurrying UP THE WALL to hide behind some wrapping paper. Goodness they climb walls!?!!?!?!?! At this point, we are mildly wigging out and decide it best to involve Joe, the Super.
Emily speedily found him and told him there was a mouse in her closet. He said, "Keep it!". Not the time for jokes Joe! After quick convincing, he was at the scene. Joe, cool as a cucumber and completely unphased, got on all fours and reached into the back of the closet. (Rooomate Emily, Friend Emily and I are all standing behind Joe armed with our weapons of choice, completely prepared to advance if our front line goes down.) We sensed a struggle in the back corner of the closet, Joe reached in further and the mouse flew out of the closet. With swiffers and trash cans flying, we screamed and retreated to the bed. We heard squealing from the mouse. And with a blink, the mouse was gone. Ohhhhh no. Where the heck did it go?
We look to Joe for answers and he grabs at his knee.
"Son of a b****", he says.
"Joe, what?? Where did it go????", we say as panic rises.
"Son of a b**** is in my pants", he calmly states in his heavy European accented english, as he begins to stand up.
"What are you talking about Joe! No, really. Where IS IT?", we all beg!
Joe stood up gripping the lump around his knee. Gave it a quick squeeze and then shook his pant leg out. Out falls the son of a b**** onto our hardwood floors.
We SCREAMED. I mean, really scream. There might have been a few tears also. It's a bit of a blur. After minutes of pure chills down your back wigging out, Joe picks up the enemy by its tail and casually walks out of our apartment.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Never in my life....