KristyWes

Living Single(?)

I recently discovered that I have a roommate. His name is Rumsfeld, and I hate him. He is a mouse.

If you're wondering how Rumsfeld came by his name, it is because I felt "Nebuchadnezzar" was too grandiose for the little rodent. In search of another iniquitous name-sake, I settled on Donald Rumsfeld. Also, "Rumsfeld" has kind of a British air to it, something butler-esque, which will hopefully mitigate my fear and loathing.

So far I have only had one sighting of this creature, but once was enough to fill my heart with irrational fear. It has only been 20 minutes since said sighting, and already I am longing for yesterday (when all my troubles seemed so far away). In case I need to do any stomping (oh, ick), I have put on my running shoes. I may wear them to bed, and always. This is what Rumsfeld has reduced me to.

He has interrupted the calm, clean, sanctuary of my apartment. Now noises make me jump, and I feel the need to pull my feet up when sitting on the couch. I wonder where he is right now. Is he hiding behind the stove- or he is across the room under the shelving unit? Is he watching me?

I guess I should buy a trap, but the thing with traps is that they trap things. And then I have to check the trap, and possibly dispose of the distasteful thing. So instead of a trap, I think I'm going to give denial a shot. I will pretend tonight never happened; Rumsfeld and I never met.

However, if he shows his face again, I will be forced to take trap action. Do you hear that, Rumsfeld? Leave town, and live!

There is a blessing here, and it is this: Rumsfeld is a mouse, he's definitely a mouse, and most definitely not a rat. A small consolation, but one I will cling to.