Murophobia

Dear Chicken Nugget,

For the last five days your mom and I have been terrorized by a mouse in the house.  I first caught a quick glimpse of him running from the couch to the space between the desk and cabinet near where I was sitting.  This, of course, led me to hop on the couch and squeal like a little girl.  Your dad, Nugget, suffers from murophobia - the fear of mice and rats.

I sprung into action and ran across the street to buy half a dozen sticky glue traps.  I laid them out wherever I thought Mr. Mouse might travel.  When we went to bed that night, I spent a good amount of time lying awake and listening to every little sound in the apartment.  I can't stand rodents.

As you get older I have no doubt that any of my former roommates will share with you a gazillion stories about me and mice.  New Yorkers have the unfortunate experience of having to often live with rodent pests.  My roommates have gotten a number of good laughs from my reactions to these disease-infested creatures.

After a few nights of terror and buying fancier traps, we finally caught the little guy last night.  We had seen him scurry under the desk and your mom suggested we lay a glue trap down there.  I put the trap down, walked to the kitchen to put another one down, and by the time I got back, the trap had moved.  As I got closer to inspect it, the mouse squeaked and tried to escape from its gluey trap.  I froze.

Your mom was already in bed with you and called out, "Did we catch him?"

"Yep," I replied from atop the couch.

"Bag him and take him out to the trash," she said.

"I can't.  He's fighting back," I said, voice shaky.

"That's what you're supposed to do when you're fighting for your life."

Thanks.

"Take a another sticky trap, throw it on top, and place the whole thing in a plastic bag," she suggested.

I did just that but the little guy turned his head and tried to gnaw through the trap.  Freaked.  Me.  Out.  A tiny part of me felt bad.  His little beady black eyes asked for forgiveness.  A bigger part of me was scared and disgusted.  Still, with his front paws pulling on a printer cable, holding on for dear life, I didn't have it in me to struggle with the mouse.

Your mom got out of bed, grabbed a broom (to stun him, she declared), and managed to bag the little mouse in less than five seconds.  She's my hero, your mom.  While she was double bagging the mouse, making it safe for me to carry out to the trash, you began to cry.  I picked you up and stood with you on top of the couch while your mom saved us from sure pestilence. 

Then, the saint that she is, she took a picture.

Papi saving Nugget from the bubonic plague

I managed to build up enough courage to take the mouse out to the trash.  And, despite my complete fear and revulsion, I said a little prayer for it.

You and your mom went back to bed and I stayed up at the desk doing work, happy to have finally rid ourselves of the mouse.

About an hour later, I saw something moving from the corner of my eye.  Yes, another mouse.  Letting out a ridiculous bellow, I tip-toe hopped to our bed where I told your mom what I had just seen and lay awake for half the night listening for Mr. Mouse's vengeful family.

I hate mice.  I hope we catch all of them so that you can live in a safe, healthy apartment free of plague.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa