For the third week in a row, strolling down First Street hasn’t been an option. I even missed the July 4th parade and the fireworks. Nothing like a good mouse infestation, a case of Covid, and an unprecedented heat wave to disrupt the schedule. The upside was being distracted from the political situation.
Two weeks after my last column am still in the clutches of the mouses. Have had a variety of people from Attic Pros on the job — seven different men from Mexico, a charming Afghan fellow, Sayid, who was afraid of mice, and a veteran of the mouse wars from the HOA. Each has had a different take on the situation. Anyone who says that immigrants are taking away good jobs from “Americans” isn’t paying attention. This mouse busting job is no walk in the park.
Paid the Afghani fellow an extra $100 on top of the $2100 already spent to pull out my dishwasher — something, evidently, that wasn’t covered under the first contract. After disconnecting the water, he was able to ease the appliance out. “There’s a giant rat back there,” he said as he quickly exited the kitchen. “I can see its tail.” A giant rat! Cowabunga!!! Had been told that tiny field mice have been sheltering here over night and creeping under the front door, too lightweight to set off one of the live traps. But a rat??
At this point I have retreated to my patio safely peering in through the screen door. “I’ve got to get more traps, ” he said. Returning from Ace with four old fashioned snap traps he bated them with special mouse food from a tube — sort of like anchovy paste. Mice are no longer into peanut butter and really like Tootsie Rolls, I was later told by the HOA rodent expert.
I’ve been assured by a friend that my karma isn’t in jeopardy using the snap traps if I’ve tried everything else. I have. That night lying in bed I hear a snap. I feel wistful that it had to be this way but wish the rat well on the way to his next incarnation. In the morning I call Sayid to come back and remove the mouse and plug the hole behind the dishwasher.
Alas! The snap traps are empty. He’s escaped. “I’ll call my friend Marco who can catch mice with his bare hands,” said he. “I’m all in,” I said. Marco and Sayid were quite a team, Sayid called his partner “amigo” with a Farsi accent and gave instructions while Marco followed the rat from one hiding place to another. Marco had fun scaring us by pretending to be a rat, laughing his head off after we jumped. What is the difference between a mouse and a rat?” I asked Sayid. “One is bigger.” I Googled and read that they are different animals. Checking further I learned that in Farsi they are both the same word — sounds like “moush.”
Missed dinner that night because I couldn’t get into the booby trapped kitchen with the appliances pulled out and the water turned off. Took myself out to lunch the next day — first foray out since being hit by Covid.
What a delight. I drove to Lucca’s and sat on the side of the building with the hydrangeas. There was a lovely breeze, and it was probably 10 degrees cooler than in front. The metal chair was uncomfortable. “Maybe I’ve lost too much weight with Covid,” I thought. A kind fellow brought me a cushion.
Everyone was so nice. Joyce came out and said, “We love out customers, every one of them and want to make them happy.” I ordered a tasty chicken salad with avocado, green apple slices, candied walnuts, and a light lemon vinaigrette dressing. My waitress Nadine, it was her second day, was friendly and attentive. There must have been four or five people looking after me.
It was good being back on the Street. Spied the Mayor inside having lunch. Two different acid yellow corvettes passed by. Women wearing long flowing dresses to beat the heat glided up the street, lots of tats on lots of arms and legs. Benicia Cowboy drove by several times, his horse whinnying, and Cowboy laughing. He seems to get as big a kick out of his talking horse as ever. Who says you need a sporty car, fancy bike, or boat to have a good time?
The next day Sayid and Marco come back determined to finish the job. They asked me for a large bucket which I didn’t have, but I gave them a cat carrier which I figured should be big enough. “Got him,” yelled Marco. It wasn’t a pregnant mouse like originally thought but a big fat rat who had acquired a stash of food and made a nest in the walls under the sink.
Is this the end of the story? Who knows? The mouse cognoscenti have differing opinions. I’m once again cooking oatmeal for breakfast with full use of my kitchen.
During this almost three week ordeal I’ve been nourished with food runs from my generous brother-in-law Doug, my sister Susan, friend Marialee, and Susan Black from Benicia Insight Meditation who made me chicken soup.
Is this a great country or what?
Letters From Benicia 