Note: It's taken me a while to actually publish this post, but now that it's almost all in the past, I think I can finally put it up. Since the entire story is fairly long, I'm going to include it as a series of three different posts. So here it is, Part I: The Recognition.
I recently returned from a sabbatical of sorts to the west and the far east. I had been in a couple of unconventional living situations, so I was looking forward to a nice, relaxing homecoming.
I should have been nervous when a scene similar to the following greeted me at the airport.
(I took this picture at the car dealership the other day. These are all dead. The ones at the airport were all alive. WHERE ARE THE SEAGULLS??!?)
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And I should have been further worried when, instead of a relaxing environment, this is what I came home to:
Yes. That is all of our kitchen and pantry items set nicely on the dining room table, coffee table, and whatever spare landing place could be found. In case you were wondering, the leftover containers are on the chair against the wall. But of course! (For a more complete dialogue on this situation, please see The Ernie and Bert Book, and/or read this comment from an Amazon reviewer.)
Our apartment had been sprayed for cockroaches a few weeks prior, but since "for up to two weeks after the spraying, the presence of cockroaches might increase," my roommates had abandoned the kitchen entirely, opting to cook at a neighbor's house.
The devastation left by the roaches was not just limited to a displacement of kitchen materials. There were dead (and live) cockroaches everywhere.
On the sticky traps meant for the mice...
and even on the freezer door...
We quickly learned that the roaches weren't the worst of our issues. For several months, we had seen (and heard and smelled) the telltale sign of mice living in the air vents. If you were ever up late at night doing homework or just trying to find some time alone, you could hear them romping around--from the sounds they made, we estimated they were the size of small horses. Since it's the summer in Texas, our AC had been running constantly, and the apartment was filled with the musky odor of mice. In case you consider me paranoid or overly concerned at this point, you might be interested to know this wasn't our first rodeo with a mouse infestation. In fact, just last year, they cut a couple holes in the wall of our pantry to pull out two decaying mice. That stench was entirely overpowering. Needless to say, I could recognize the smell from anywhere. And it was present.
I decided to do something about the whole roach/rodent situation, so I cleaned up the kitchen, washed all the dishes and put them in the dishwasher (so I knew they would be clean and not roach-infested), and stuck a mouse trap in the air ducts right next to the vent. I watched that trap for a few days, but to no avail. After what literally seemed like months (but was only a few days as I recall), I looked in and the trap had sprung!! ...but no mouse. Slightly disappointed but determined still, I grabbed some pepperjack cheese from the supply of my roommate currently studying abroad and re-set the trap.
Within two hours, I heard a pop, and went to investigate. Here's what I found. Isn't he cute?
He was just sitting there, watching me. At this point, I realized I hadn't entirely thought out the trap-setting scenario. If the mouse was alive but still caught in some non-deadly fashion, he would run off with the trap into the recesses of our air vents, only to die a slow, painful, and extremely putrid death. I guess I figured I'd leave the mouse there until he didn't show any signs of movement (actually, to be honest, I was afraid he was going to run straight for my face as soon as I opened the vent so I was delaying as long as possible), so I left him there and went to watch a movie.
When I returned, my roommate wanted to see the little guy, so he sought out the necessary tools to take the vent off. Horrified that he hadn't entirely thought through the potential consequences of his actions, I opened the front door, armed myself with a nearby broom, and sought protection for my face from the banister. You might think my actions were a little bit over the top, but I had just successfully survived a trip to China without contracting polio, and there was no way I was going to die from the hantavirus.
We were both slightly disappointed when he finished opening the air vent and there was no mouse—just an empty trap. I was slightly relieved (I now had documentation for our apartment management that there were mice in our air ducts, and didn't have to take care of this one myself), but also a little bit frightened. First, how large were these mice that had apparently evaded traps twice, and second, what was the state of this mouse when he left the crime scene? Was he wounded? Did he walk off on his own? In some sort of heroic save-your-comrade-in-battle scene, did his friend rush up (brandishing a set of pumpkin-carving knives he had stolen from our kitchen/dining room, no doubt), quickly splint his broken leg, and drag him back to the nest deep in the recesses of the air ducts? Or perhaps at the thought of his wife (can mice get married? do they need to get married before procreating?) waiting for him back at the nest, the wounded mouse had mustered every last ounce of strength and dragged his nearly-dead corpse through the dark maze of cool, metal tunnels, so he could die in the arms of her whom he loved?
I was super concerned for a few minutes, but after a thorough analysis of the above picture, we all decided the eye looking at us from the vent was not one of a mouse undergoing a light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel experience, but was instead, the eye of an evil mouse flaunting his freedom from the fell clutch of humanity.
Knowing what I now know, I should have trusted my gut. I should have slept at the foot of our apartment manager until they relented and actually did something to clear out the vents. The scent of decaying roaches is not overpowering at first. In fact, for the first few days, the scent is no more than the natural scent of mice living in the air vents. However, if "scent" could be quantified and objectively measured, the scent of a decaying mouse would most definitely follow an exponential growth. By day 5, I had begun working from the manager's office, hoping that my presence alone ("Do you mind if I work here today? The smell from the rodents you haven't taken care of is making me physically ill.") would convince them something needed to be done. It's now day 6. Fortunately, the scent is limited to just the lower level of our split-story town home, but I don't have a lot of hope.
If one of these days you find me unresponsive to phone calls, emails, and texts, know that I have taken up residence under the freeway with some of Austin's finest. As the nights are becoming warmer, it's getting easier and easier to spot their telltale pillow-and-grocery-sack dwellings. Although I'm not sure that the smell would be any better...
Welcome home, Nathan.
It's great to see you, too, Austin.
