there's a mouse about the house; or, you're a real dude's dude

I woke up in the middle of the night on Wednesday to the squeaking of a terrified mouse that was cornered by Linus "Killer" and Lucy "The Sundance Kid" McFurry-VonMeowerton behind the tv in my room. I really hate that this always seems to happen in the middle of the night, because while I would generally be content to fall asleep and deal with a mouse corpse in the morning, I am afraid that I will in fact wake up to my cats' Thanksgiving feast on my pillow. Several restless hours later I did wake up to clean up the dead mouse in the living room. Fortunately the carnage is limited because once the mouse is dead it no longer holds their interest.

In the morning I mentioned to Frank that the cats had killed a mouse and we talked about it for awhile. Not long after that conversation, Lucy is nosing around in the corner of the living room and sure enough brings a little still alive mouse and drops it at Frank's feet.
Turns out Frank is terrified of mice. And this was a little guy, probably about the same size as the mousie pictured. Frank was crawling up the back of the couch away from this tiny mouserson. I got a dustpan and the little guy just marched up onto it and I set the dustpan on the coffee table.
"Don't leave it there!!" Frank squealed as he went to get the garbage can, into which I dumped the still live mouse. I actually felt really bad about this, but I can't be the one to kill it directly. I learned that what it takes for Frank to actually take out the garbage is a live rodent inside of it. Note to self.
So then today Frank asks me if I have some measuring tape. He explains that he is measuring newspaper. "Oh, are you framing a sports win?" I joked. He looked at me blankly. "Yes. The Giants won the Superbowl" Obviously.
"It's funny," I said, "that I don't really know you very well, but that I guessed that"
"Oh...yeah" Frank said dismissively, "Typical dude stuff."

Yeah, Frank, until you get a baby mouse in front of you, you're a real dude's dude.

vermin

The exterminator came to the apartment yesterday.

The exterminator came to exterminate for bed bugs.

We have bed bugs.

Or, more accurately, I have bed bugs. They have not yet struck Abby, and God-willing, they never will. Although, from what I read on the internet, it sounds like I will be battling bed bugs for the rest of my life.

A few weeks ago I noticed some welts. I decided I was having an allergic reaction to something and dismissed them. Then a couple weeks later I got them again. I know that NYC has a bed bug epidemic. And news sources reassure me that it is not because I am filthy, but still, I was in complete denial that they were a possibility. Ok, not complete denial. I looked on the internet for how you detect bed bugs. I checked my mattress, noticed no signs, and called it good. Until Tuesday night when I was sitting in bed, felt something on me and found a bed bug. Tuesday night didn't provide a lot of rest.
Wednesday night wasn't a lot better. I slept on the couch. I had torn apart my room looking for more evidence and had found in my box spring a nauseatingly clear sign that yes, I did have bed bugs. I threw out the box spring. You're actually not supposed to do this. You're supposed to wrap it up if you throw it out so the infestation doesn't spread. And you're supposed to label it so that some schmuck from the projects across the street doesn't take it and spread bed bugs to the entire complex. I did neither, and on Thursday the box spring was gone. Oh well.
Wednesday I also called the land lord, who refused to pay for extermination. "Your bed, your problem" he said. We couldn't get an exterminator to come on Thursday, so I spent Thursday night on the couch too. another rough night. Every tickle. Every itch was cause for a bed bug inspection. And when you have bed bugs, you get phantom itches a lot.
Friday morning the exterminator came to give an estimate. $600. Which Abby says she does not feel like she needs to pay half of, since they are in my room. I spend a few minutes having a nervous breakdown in my room. Decide that I will just go get bed bug spray and do it myself. Even though every website I read said to just get it professionally done and get it over with. I come out of my room to send the exterminator on his way.
"Well, I can negotiate", he says. After some back-and-forth and some language barrier problems, I talk him down to $400. I leave for the day so he can do his thing.
While I am out I go to Bed Bath and Beyond to get a mattress cover that protects against bed bugs. And also new pillows because I threw mine out. And while I was at it, pillow protectors too. This all came to about $130. I had also spent $50 on cleaning supplies earlier, to do a full on scrub of the house.
I came back in the evening to a sprayed house. The chemical burn in my throat made me feel confident that maybe, just maybe, this will turn out ok. I went to the laundromat to wash my linens on HOT and to dry some of my clothes, also on HOT. supposedly this kills the bed bugs.
I put sheets back on my bed, cleaned my room and went to sleep in my bed. A long, comfortable sleep. A hopeful sleep that I may be safe from bed bugs for awhile.
It is now 3 am on Saturday night/Sunday morning. About a half hour ago I woke up to go to the bathroom and get some water. I came back into bed. I get in bed and the cats are nosing around acting all weird in a way that usually makes me concerned that Linus has a mouse (which was another terrible, sleepless, vermin filled night several months ago). But in this case, I am worried they have seen a bed bug. Linus starts to nose under the covers and then under me. So I get up. I kneel on my mattress looking for any signs of "the animal", which is what the exterminator kept calling it. I feel a poke on my lower back, under my shirt. I freeze and then slowly reach back, knowing that I will find a bed bug there. But I didn't! No bed bug!
No.
Oh no.
It was one of the largest roaches I have ever seen. On me. Biting me. Under my shirt.
I just shuddered writing about it. So imagine my horror.
I'm back on the couch. Itchy all over. Anticipating yet another sleepless night filled with the 5 am news and history channel specials about stone henge. And job searches in Portland.

Moving back to Oregon was always a consideration. New York is too expensive to be livable beyond your 20s, when it's ok to eat mac and cheese 3 times a week. Then I thought maybe I would stay another year. Then I thought about getting a job and how it could take a long time and how I don't have the money to live here very long with no job. So then moving back to oregon and staying with my parents while I look for a job seemed like a more practical idea.
With every bug I find on my person, moving to Portland just seems better every time.

I pay $750 for my apartment. It is about 900 sq ft. tall ceilings. Lots of space. Big windows. I share with a roommate. Hardwood floors which are impossible to clean. Across the street from some projects. there was a shooting at the funeral home across the street on thursday. I have to walk down to the laundromat, which just increased their prices. $750 includes no utilities.

A quick craiglist search finds me an apartment in Portland for $700. 2 bedroom 2 bath. Washer and dryer in the apartment. Carpeting. Parking. And a back yard.

I applied for a job at a hospital in Portland. I think I'll apply for some more tomorrow.

Meanwhile I am going to take a shower and get back to bed on my lovely couch.