A New York City rite of passage
I’m told that having a rodent in my apartment is a New York rite of passage. But like crapping oneself in India, it is a rite of passage that I’m not very comfortable with.
I was sat watching TV as the mouse announced its presence to me by nonchalantly strolling across my kitchen floor like it owned the place, before disappearing behind the kitchen cupboard.
I investigated the cupboard to find on the top, which is about seven feet up, a bag of brown rice that had a mouse sized hole in it. There was also mouse droppings all over the wooden top. So it basically broke into my apartment, ate my food and took a shit in my kitchen. Charming.
Last night I returned home to see that one of the two traps I had laid had gone off. Only there was no mouse. There was no cheese either. The sneaky little fucker had…
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