Me, My Mouse and I

I haven't mentioned my ongoing companion on here yet and I am doing him a mighty disservice by ignoring his profound part in my life in Paris. Since I ventured out on my own in my little (for little read tiny like a cupboard) studio and into the big wide world of independence, freedom and solitude, I have I had a partner in crime. Which, you might think takes away from my solitude. And you would be right. Because in my darkest hours and my lightest ones I have been kept in constant company by my mouse. And for some reason he seems to be alone too. We are alone, together. Although as he leaves me for days on end I am starting to suspect he has a family somewhere else. He does not live permanently with me, he scurries between my cupboard and the hole in the wall through which he enters. He can leave for days at a time and stay for days at a time and I always know when he leaves and when he arrives and when he is happily hiding in the cupboard. Since our first meeting, in the middle of the night, when I woke to him trying to get out of the carrier bag that he'd climbed into and found some parmesan cheese (that I'd stupidly forgotten was in there), I have created a bed of plastic bags in the cupboard to act as an alarm to his arrival and movement.

But before I go forward, let us dwell here on the first meeting. I sat up in frozen horror knowing that the rustle was too big to be anything less than a mouse. Terrified to find out more I sat still and squinted into the darkness where the black scurrying shape of a mouse ran along the skirting board behind my fridge. It looked like a mouse, was way too small to be a rat but I still couldn't trust my eyes. Shaky and nervous I went back to sleep. Tossing and turning and checking the floor for a sign of him every 20 minutes or so. In the morning I opened the bag, found the incriminating cheese and it's little droppings, threw the contents into the bin, checked out the cupboard, saw the hole, nervously rustled a few plastic bags and decided to shove them further back into the cupboard to create an alarm. Sure enough, that night I heard a tapping of teeth (I think he taps at the old crockery my landlord left but it could be the pipe which has a leak) and then a rustle. I turned the light on. He went still. I lay down. Thirty minutes later he rustled. I turned the light on and this time banged on the cupboard door whilst hopping on my feet in case he escaped as I stood there. He stopped. This has since become our routine. He rustles, I turn light on and make a noise, he shuts up, I go to sleep and he does whatever he does when I finally reach REM. I liked to imagine this was as far as things went and I was comfortable with our relationship.

Oh but I digress, first, I must say after a few weeks of this I went home to Christmas and when I came home he was not there and he'd left no sign of himself. My friend had had guests stay in my flat whilst I was gone and they had not seen him. After a week of me being home and two weeks before my sister was to arrive for her first visit, he came back. I was, if I'm honest, a little happy to hear him but annoyed that he had come before she did. As if he knew this, my little mouse friend amused me a few nights before my sister arrived as I heard his frenzied scratching to get up the wall and through the hole. Where he stayed until my sister came and went. He announced his arrival a few weeks later with his usual crash landing. Only now I was weeks away from a flurry of visits, some of which required me sleeping on my floor. His visits were becoming unwelcome. I started to think about finally buying the poison I'd been reluctant to get. As if by magic, that week a man and woman arrived at my door to lay poison and tell me of the infestation and that it was obligatory to have this poison. Thus taking away my decision making and guilt. Two nights later I was awoken by the crash landing as my mouse came back through the hole. He then preceded to run around the cupboard like crazy ALL night long. I was convinced he had eaten some poison and this was his death throws. I was saddened and not a little worried but overwhelmed with tiredness (school was working on 18 hour days for me at this point) I was mostly angry. I heard him leave through the hole the next morning and thought that was probably the last I'd heard of him.

And then a few days later, days before my sister arrived he popped in and his entrance not only woke me but had me laughing my head off as this time I wasn't woken by the crash landing but the actual whistle through the air as he fell from the hole. He was well behaved, after this initial hello he stayed still and quiet and I heard him leave the next day. And then I had six days of visits which ended on Tuesday afternoon. Not a peek out of him. I slept on the floor outside his cupboard safe in the knowledge he was in the wall and I hadn't heard him at all. And then Tuesday evening, I was watching Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time, sleepy and relaxed on the sofa, basking in the supper of cheese and cold meats and considering more when I thought I heard the quietest hint of a rustling plastic bag. And then nothing more. Clearly I was imagining it. And then about 20 minutes later I see a movement out of the corner of my eye and there, sniffing under the table is the mouse. Lights on, DVD blaring and the little bugger had just walked out in search of my cheese, I assume. I was, rather than horrifed (although a little horrified) taken aback by his blatant cheek and flouting of our unspoken house rules. I screamed to get him to move, paralysed by fear and unable to move the scream was a rather pathetic squeak. It had the effect, off he scuttled back to the cupboard, where he rustled and I banged on the door to bring on fear and then I heard his quiet creeping again and I realised he has mastered the art of walking on those plastic bags so as not to disturb me. Now, I thought we had an honest, open relationship, which granted was a little one sided as he didn't seem to be gaining anything. And now I learn he's been sneaking behind my back, wandering around the apartment as I sleep and sucking up crumbs. I feel cheated, once again disappointed by the propensity of men to lie and quite frankly fed up at paying to house him (and it turns out feed him) in return for the odd amusing crash landing and the comforting knowledge that someone would know if I dropped down dead in the flat on my own one night, although he wouldn't tell anyone he'd just eat me (I like to imagine whilst shedding the odd tear).

There I was thinking that he'd popped in to say goodbye before my sister came to stay and to let me know he'd miss me too but he was just coming to steal food. I'm considering getting a snap the neck trap and sticking it at the place where he leaves the cupboard, which since his last exit has housed several scrunched up plastic bags to announce his escape to me. I am beginning to take quiet satisfaction in imagining his crumbled body and me winning. And then I realise I would actually miss his night time rustling and I just wish we could go back to him pretending he stayed in the cupboard like a good boy and me pretending I didn't know he left it. It might be a flawed relationship but if I'm honest it's been quite a nice one too.