I used to think mice were cute. Then they moved into my apartment

I used to think mice(mīs) were cute(kyo͞ot). Then they moved into my apartment

By Heather(ˈheT͟Hər) Gilroy(gilˈroē)

I once had a couple of drinks with Phil, an old friend from university who lived in Toronto(təˈräntō) and had a mouse(mous) problem.

“Once, I saw one in the bathtub(ˈbaTHˌtəb),” he told me, putting down his beer(bi(ə)r). “I turned on the water, exactly enough so it had to swim. I left it swimming for a couple hours, so it could just die.”

I squirmed(skwərm) and crossed my legs. I was wrong about liking Phil. The guy was crazy or a little sociopathic(ˈsōsēōˌpaTH). Maybe he wasn’t the kind of person you should drink alcohol(-ˌhäl,ˈalkəˌhôl) around.

But then I moved into an apartment in Toronto a few years later. My opinions(əˈpinyən) shuffled(ˈSHəfəl). I saw certain(ˈsərtn) things in a new light. I felt the joy a fresh(freSH) sink(siNGk) sponge(spənj) can bring, for example. I understood the refreshing(riˈfreSHiNG) emptiness(ˈem(p)tēnis) of the trash(traSH) can the day after garbage pick-up. And I learned that mice in real life are different than the ones I knew from children’s books; they aren’t cute, not really.

My first mouse-infested(inˈfest) apartment was on College Street above a video-rental(ˈrentl) store. We’d asked the landlord(ˈlan(d)ˌlôrd) about mice before signing(ˈsīniNG) our lease(lēs), and he assured(əˈSHo͝ord) us in his kindly, grandfatherly way that rodents(ˈrōdnt) were strangers to him. Two months later, when my roommate(ˈro͝om-,ˈro͞omˌmāt) started screaming(skrēm) and gassed a small one to death with her hairspray(sprā), our landlord was more forthcoming(fôrTHˈkəmiNG,ˈfôrTHˌkəmiNG): “Ahhhh, yes. Those are the winter mice!”

From then on, our daily routine(ro͞oˈtēn) involved checking traps(traps) for furry(ˈfərē) little bodies and arguing over who had to throw them out. I remember complaining(kəmˈplān) to a friend: “I wish I had a boyfriend … someone who could just … get rid of them for me.” “That’s not very feminist(ˈfemənəst),” he told me. And I’m sad to say I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Sometimes lived experience is a little more complicated than theory(ˈTHi(ə)rē,ˈTHēərē).”

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https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/article-i-used-to-think-mice-were-cute-then-they-moved-into-my-apartment/