wait for the screaming

I found a mouse in my room yesterday. It was Halloween and I was watching Ratatoille on the television, when a mouse ran by my foot. Ratatouille isn't a 3D movie, so I turned off the tv and we started the hunt.

In high school I had a pet mouse, the smartest, bravest, and most honest and noble creature that ever lived. In French class we had to write a paper on our hero, and I wrote about my pet mouse. Then we had to change papers with a partner and my partner had written about his mom, who was fighting cancer. That was not the best day. Today I spent five minutes looking for what I remembered being a fantastic picture of my mouse. And here it is.



So, it's really unfortunate that it's actually the worst photo ever taken. Speaking of unfortunate, there was a mouse in my room yesterday. I'm not really scared of mice. I only have two rules: I don't want to touch mice I don't know, and I don't want to see them dead.

Most animals in French are masculine if you don't know their gender, but my flat-mates kept calling this mouse a girl. As in "Hurry, she's fast!" She was not that fast. I think she was probably drunk. I asked my fellow mouse-hunters why feminine pronouns were used for rodents, but they were too busy getting out the tube of mouse glue to give me a grammar lesson.

Mouse glue. France is known for its pastries and and its art but not for its mouse glue, and that is a shame. It's thick and brown and we covered a piece of cardboard in it and set the homemade trap on the floor. Then they placed half a baguette in the middle, because the only thing French mice love more than smoking and wearing tiny berets is a good baguette.

"In the middle of the night you'll start to hear screaming," they explained. "And then you'll be able to sleep peacefully." I've never associated peaceful slumber with screaming before, but I have also never baited a lady mouse with half a baguette, so it seemed like as good a day as any to try something new. Our mouse was serious baguette enthusiast, and within minutes she wandered over to the carboard and go stuck. Her screaming didn't have the soothing effect I had been promised - it sounded desperate and human. But after a few seconds she was quiet, and she closed her eyes and shook in fear. "Let's get a box," I motioned with my hands as to the size, "and we can put her outside."

"Nah, we don't have a box that small." said the husband, twirling a hammer. After one final look at her shaking on the bed of mouse glue, I went into the kitchen and waited. There were four tiny screams of terror before there was silence.

And so ends the tale of how I gained and lost my first French roommate. Now it's just me alone here, and several irrational fears. I'm afraid to turn on the radiator, because if there's a mouse inside it will explode and die in there. I'm afraid I'll freeze to death (this is closely related to the fear of not turning on the radiator). And for some reason I'm afraid to touch the tube of mouse glue, which is still sitting in the middle of my room. There's a drawing of a mouse on the box, and when it's quiet, I can hear her screaming.