17~A New York Fairytale: I SLEPT WITH A MOUSE

Once upon a time there were two princesses and an unwelcome mouse. These princesses wanted to be like Snow White and Gisele in 'Enchanted'; princesses who loved and lived harmoniously with all creatures. But the mouse in this story is not a creature to sing to, nor does he help with the household chores. He is, in fact, a bold, bold villain...

Where to start? I think I will set the scene from which I write this strange little NY fairytale:

Lyd and I are sat in the Hungarian Pastry Shop. It is 8:30 in the evening there is an encroaching darkness as night settles in. We have just shared the most sublime piece of cake: dark chocolate, cardamom and orange (a surprise biscuit base that delighted!). We felt the need to get out of the house, though not because of the mouse. Lyd hated her computer because it was contaminated with duty, needed cake (firstly), a place to read or write and a change of scenery. The walk here was lovely. A setting sun, thinly spread clouds draped across the disappearing blanket of blue sky, cherry blossom in lovely shapes amidst the skyscrapers and New York. Lyd, I say as we cross 110th, you live in New York. Yes, I live in New York. I grin. It is pretty awesome living in New York and we can go out for cake at any hour because we are in fact grown ups (contrary to how we may be perceived or feel) and New York is the city that does not sleep. We both feel a little odd but our Hungarian Pastry Cafe shop plan is keeping us moving. The strategy is pretty much to go there: work and eat a cake. Cake (on its own merit) may just be the motivating force. This ramshackle cafe is opposite a beautiful cathedral (it featured in the book Stephanie was reading and she was pretty thrilled to visit it) and is busy but there are tables. It is open from 7:30 until 11 at night. Should you come for a sweet treat to find the cafe closed and your hopes dashed, Insomnia Cookies is just two doors down and is open all night. This cafe is amazingly popular- Lyd likes it not only because of the delectable cake, but they never kick you out so you can work for hours. It is a great atmosphere. People are arriving and leaving. Reading; typing on laptops; quiet; chattering. Alone and with friends. Eating cake. Drinking tea. Supping coffee.

Shame we snaffled the cake so quickly, I failed to photograph that!

The cake is such a necessity for Lyd as she went for her first run in about 5 months today. We went earlier in Hudson River Park to capitalise on the sun and to propel Lyd out of her running slump. My running is temporarily (I hope) a struggle. I can not even seem to break 5k and the more I try, the more I seem to fail. We split up in the park and agree to meet at the magnolia trees at 101st. We high five as we pass somewhere near the dog run- Lyd is looking strong. I find her near the magnolias ten minutes later saying that after running 20 minutes and walking for 5, she basically wants to go to bed for the rest of her life. She does look rather flushed and not in a healthy, rejuvenated way. She would like to eat first though as she is ravenous, thinking only about the carrots, humous and guacamole she will tuck into (but she specifies she will just stand in front of the fridge pre collapse) as soon as we get home. She also thinks cake later will be a good idea, although if she is in bed then this may be difficult (crumbs are not allowed in the bedroom because of the mouse and also we have no cake in the house because I would just eat it; although there is always the NY option of Insomnia Cookies, which we have debated before, because they deliver fresh baked batches until 4 in the morning). I am very proud of her. (At the same time incredibly jealous of her metabolism which is much like Baroness Eve’s.) I wonder what exactly it was that made her decide to run today. I think it could be one, of the very few, positives that the bloody mouse has brought about. Our huge tidy up meant our trainers were side by side. She noted that hers looked unused, positively pristine, but shamefully they are in fact older than mine. Then there was Saturday night when I app-ed her from the bedroom, where I hid from a squeaking I heard coming from the kitchen. She was in fact on her way home and she app-ed: 5 minutes, Princess! I am running! I appreciated her princess support but app-ed back: Have you seen your trainers? Please do not run, I don’t want you to collapse on the streets of NY! She must really have been running because this message remained unseen while I waited with baited breath.. Her adrenaline because of the mouse related intel must have sustained her, she arrived breathless but ready to investigate. What exactly did you hear? She is poised in a ready to attack position, her hands out, legs bent and torch on her phone. Wow, Lyd, from the girl screams and cartoonish jumping up onto furniture reactions, you have really turned around! Support in numbers meant I could leave bedroom where I had retreated and described in detail to the investigating Lydia the distressed squeaking I had heard. The noise was very unlike that first squeak we heard 2 weeks back. Two six foot princesses against a six centimetre creature. So in terms of running, her blast on the NY streets because of the mouse had reminded her that her legs could run and why should the mouse dictate when she runs? He has already dictated much of our life over the past weeks. 

I think that going back in time and telling the mouse events sequentially is important for you all to understand the trauma/s we have suffered. It seems I intended to write a fairytale mouse story but became distracted by cake…

A couple weeks ago, Lyd and I were sat at our tables, homework club fashion. Lydia has never ending emails, ongoing research and reading that she is always juggling, I am often trying to knuckle down and blog because it always takes longer then I think- possibly some might say it is much too wordy prose. It was after dinner, which with rubbish supermarket ingredients, I had managed to make tasty with salty olives. Not really a cooking trick that I want to have in my repertoire. From the kitchen came a rustle of a paper bag and then a very clear, quite loud squeak. We looked at each other and were both evidently in denial as it was indisputable. Mice don't squeak like that, we both said. Lydia had a right nasty job of sorting this apartment when she got it some months back. The owner had/has a lot of crap and there was evidence of mice so it was possible that they may come back but Carlos (the super) had down a thorough job of blocking up holes. So the super helped to sort, as did her friends (Sabir the main hero here) and she had made a lovely home. Rent controlled apartments in the Upper West Side just aren't to be sniffed at, snaffled up, in fact. It is quite apparent that the landlady was/is a hoarder and there is a Narnia cupboard crammed full of the crap, dismantled furniture and boxes of god knows what. (Well some I do know because I helped Lyd get some of it sorted: medical supplies- bandages and plasters that were out of date in 2011; LOTS of plastic cutlery; LOTS of pens- mostly not working; extension leads- old and grotty; a plethora of rubbish pots and pans; humongous mugs and I could go on and on...)

From here, we began to be vigilant with our cleaning and crumb control. This surreptitious creature kept us at bay for some days. Biding his time, we feel ,for a proclamation. It was the night Lydia was out, liaising with The Sri Lankan Ambassador and networking. I had been out, it was raining and I was rushing from the subway, desperately needing the restroom after many cups of hot tea. I raced in the door, dropped my stuff and made a beeline for the bathroom. Simultaneously I peeled off my wet tights. Ick. Headed straight into the kitchen, barefoot, to put the kettle on. Rookie error in the the world of living with a mouse. It scurried INTO and then OVER my foot and under the cooker. Dumbfounded, I stood frozen. Vulnerable, bare foot, in my knickers, in the kitchen with the mouse. Lyd and I agree that one of things that freaks us out about mice is the speed at which they move. How you see the darting out of the corner of your eye and they seem to collapse themselves to squeeze through the smallest of gaps. It appears to us that these creatures have a duplicitous nature but we know in reality this is our fear that creates that belief. I do know that I startled it and that is why it performed the heinous crime of scampering over my foot. Well, it startled me more. This mouse is disingenuous; I am sure he moved with uncharacteristic nonchalance and deliberation. Not quite a swagger, but you know, not darting. Needless to say, I put on my most protective shoes I had and sweated out the rest of the evening in my Uggs. After I washed my foot.

More terribly awful things happened over the following week. Another sighting by Lyd and her mama (Lyd and her mum fashioned a blockade from the kitchen to the living room so Lyd would not sleep in fear while camping on the couch) ; mouse poo on the cooker daily (remnants of porridge must be to this little beast's taste), mouse poo on the drainer for the dishes (he was sauntering and snaffling across the work top); the super came twice to block up holes and to get rid of a mouse poo covered bit of plastic furniture that the landlady had in the corner of the kitchen; Lyd obsessively hoovering; Lyd scanning the floor and picking up bits, asking me if I thought they might be mouse poo and generally there was a lot of mouse talk! Stephanie was very sympathetic to our plight and felt we ought to head over to the apartment in Queens. Basically hand over our Upper West Side digs to the mouse. Carlos, the super, would not be able to do anything until the following week, he did not think.

The barrier: Mama Wilson comes through with fortification

Things went from bad to worse when the night before the Wilson parents were leaving, Lydia was tucking her covers into the cushions on the couch and she let out a scream. THE MOUSE JUMPED OVER HER SHOULDER. She was quite hysterical but quite adamant she had seen it and watched it scatter under her desk. Yep. Mouse poo on the couch. That night I dreamt of a pistachio under my air bed. In my dream I was concerned that the mouse would collapse itself under the mattress in an attempt to rob me of my pistachio. There you have it, my very own (warped) NY fairytale: The Princess and The Pistachio (and mouse?). When I got up in the night to go to the bathroom, Lyd's mum was propped up in bed, reading, the door ajar and light on. She reminded me of a soldier on guard, keeping vigil. I was comforted by it and had no further mouse-y dreams. But things took a bigger turn for the worse.

Lyd was exhausted the next day, after our trip along the high line, huge diner brunch and palying hostess to her parents and a mouse. Stephanie and Peter were packing and Lyd would lie in the bed as they packed around her. I was on tea duty in the kitchen. Ear piercing scream. I am glad I was not in the room. Silence. I hear Stephanie's voice low and commanding, "Peter. Check it." Lydia had felt something she could only describe as vibrating and warm underneath the covers. This is Princess Smartypants after all, she does do field work in places such as Lebanon and her brain is super razor sharp, but this was strange. I wanted to believe her... A stalker mouse? Such a fan of Lyd (understandable) that it was trying to cosy up and preempt her sleeping locations? She had a headache, was fatigued, was mouse obsessed. It was like she had turned into a Austen character having to take to her bed, with her hand at her brow. Nobody liked to say she was seeing things but we did suggest it. After all, the bedroom was safe. No evidence (poo) and no food for nibbles.

Her parents left and we returned home to recover. This is when we discovered evidence in the bed. I knew it, I knew it. I'VE SLEPT WITH A MOUSE!!!!!!!!!! The whole of Broadway now knew which way Lyd swings. More importantly, she was not hallucinating. And for me also a shock: the horrible noises that had awoken me the night before Philadelphia, when I sat bolt upright and thought there is a mouse climbing up the bed, looks like was kind of true. A half nibbled almond was at the headboard, as was my toe separator that I had been looking for (this was a sentimental toe separator given to me by my yoga teacher- I guess the deviant mouse knew this and liked the coconut oil used for moisturising my feet that would have been absorbed into the foaminess ).

Days earlier Lydia had taken this photo of me and my toe separators

My dream a premonition, well a confirmation, wrong nut and I neglected to ascertain the toe separator but pretty damn close. So a Lydia fascination and a foot fetish. Double ick. What could we do? Our stunned realisations sent us into a flurry of purposeful activity. Right, he has to be in here. We got old towels and two small bins. We will move the bed and trap him! We looked at each other and gave each other admiring nods. We are brave! I am so impressed with us! Lyd said in a surprised way. Needless to say the mouse was long gone from the bedroom or well hidden somewhere. We will never know if our plan would have succeeded. Post capture there was nothing proposed so it most likely would have not been a happily ever after ending. We princess-ed up. Rubber gloves, sweats, disinfectant, laundry bags. While we are cleaning, Lyd calls out to me, 'Jess. Jess, I don't know if I am being crazy but can you check whether or not this is what I think it may be.' She has a piece of fluff on a bit of tissue and suspected it to be a mouse tail. We realise we need food and sit down to snack to muster energy for our marathon. Lyd tucks into a bag of potato chips and realises she is eating with fingers that just touched mouse poo. We called Carlos too. He came, bless him. We were frenetic- all wide eyed and in a cleaning hysteria, moving furniture. He had driven across New York because of our desperate message but was due for eye surgery in the morning. Oh. Now our mouse dilemma seemed a little trivial in comparison to surgery on an eye. Humbled, we told him not to worry, thanks so much for coming and just get back to us when you are better, hope it all goes well. We were really on our own. Alone with our mouse. Well, no. Because Sabir did come to our aid, but there was nothing to for him to do apart from take down some garbage. We actually had it under control and it felt empowering.

This mouse had taken over our lives. We went to Sabir's birthday picnic in Prospect Park and as we chatted and met new people, I honed into Lydia's voice over my shoulder and she was talking to a group about the mouse. I was blithering on the exact same topic to a separate group- telling them all about the toe dividers, the half nibbled nut, the mouse sleeping with Lyd. Turns out lots of people have mice stories and suggestions. One pal woke up with one in her hair. The dude in Starbucks says when he was a kid his dad was trying to clear the house of them but he had made friends with it and was feeding it in his bedroom! His dad caught him in the act and he was in BIG trouble! Ideas to banish the mouse: Talking nicely about him (we had been trying this). Saber told us that this or telling bad jokes would help. Someone else suggested something that sounded like witchcraft: boiling eggs and then getting acid from the pharmacy and soaking them in the acid for a few hours (this apparently also takes out all the cockroaches in an entire building and any nearby vermin). Humane traps, but set it free really far away or it will come straight back. Inhumane traps. They like peanut butter, chocolate (white or milk, not dark). They love overripe pears. Okay, enough. We had made the apartment as sterile as possible. The bedroom was now minimalistic and not an inch unturned. We lived in the bedroom and ate out to avoid the kitchen and the risk of leaving even a morsel of temptation for our furry fiend. I kept my feet covered constantly and Lyd had to sleep, but we did so with a towel stuffed under the gap in the door to prevent him sneaking in for a cuddle. Really we did not want pain for this little mouse but for him just to move on.

It had all gone quiet for a couple days. No evidence. We lived in the bedroom and carried on with NY life. I was in and I heard the noise and brave, brave Lydia came running to the rescue. His proclamation was unclear. But ever since that night, after we had BLATHERED on to absolutely anyone who would listen, the mouse was never seen, nor heard again. I wonder if the universe, or perhaps the mouse, was just sick to death of us jabbering on. Having a mouse is bad, but it could be worse, we reasoned. We did feel it was preferable to the cockroaches that Anna had dealt with at one NY place, where you would just have to step over them to go to the bathroom in the night.

We counted our lucky stars. We slowly began to live in the apartment. It felt palatial. No longer incarcerated. We were liberated. So our little Upper West Side Princess Fairytale does end happily ever after. Modern day princesses who dealt with a dastardly mouse. No fainting (bed to recover would not have been ideal), no relying on a Prince (what good could our Prince Carlos have done without vision to battle the mouse). I will always have the lasting memory, the words ringing in my ear, Lydia's irked voice bellowing: 'I SLEPT WITH A MOUSE!' A humdinger of a NY memory for my back pocket.