Last night I was watching Grey's Anatomy (Wonderful new episodes of my favorite shows are back on so now my life is complete. How sad that DVR is my boyfriend.) and lo and behold, Stuart Little crawls out from behind the TV and squeezes his little body underneath my closed bedroom door. Needless to say, I flipped out, screeched for my roommate and her boyfriend who promptly came into my room with the Swiffer broom thing and started what turned out to be a fruitless hunt. Since my bedroom is the size of a shoebox with all my stuff crammed in it, he could have been anywhere, but I like to pretend I believe my roommate when she assured me that he probably scurried out as quickly as he scurried in.
My mom says he's more afraid of me than I am of him. I was fine with Mickey when he kept his quarters to the kitchen. Ratatouille could stay in there and act out an entire Disney film as far as I was concerned. We do keep the kitchen and apartment pretty clean, this is just a lovely perk of living almost directly above two restaurants. But out of sight, out of mind. Whatever. We've had a few problems since July and have caught a few in the kitchen but he crossed the line when he shimmied into my inner sanctum. Needless to say, I barely slept all night, am exhausted and hearing phantom squeaking noises.
Thank God I'm moving.
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