Un-Happy Anniversary - Assault on the Penthouse

So, as you many of you know, two weeks ago I was assaulted in my kitchen. So what if my attacker was only four inches long? He was an uninvited guest, in my kitchen, eating my food and he scared the bejeezus out of me. Today I tell my tale.

Assault on the Penthouse: A Story of Mel C. and a Mouse Named Jerry
Setting: Spacious kitchen in the penthouse
Time of day: Ass early, pre-caffeine

I get out of bed after hitting snooze a dozen times. Kate calls to chat about our schedules and I head to my spacious kitchen, unaware that my attacker is laying (lying?) in wait. I turn on the water for tea, listening to Kate describe her plans for the day, our regular morning routine. I reach for my delicious high-fiber English muffins, being kept fresh in a Ziploc bag. Something in the bag moves. I am puzzled. English muffins do not move. Nothing in that bag should move. Nothing in the penthouse should move, except me and even that is rare. (Please keep in mind - all of this happens in the span of about 2 minutes total.)

To recap: Ziploc bag of English muffins is moving at 7:30 in the morning, before caffeine. This is not good. Upon seeing movement in the bag, I put it back on the counter and take a step back to think. I want to get that bag and its contents out of the kitchen. Getting it out of the kitchen requires 1. touching the bag, and 2. walking through the living room and dangerously close to the bedroom and that only gets me to the hallway, not out of the building. I don't know if the bag is open or if it has a hole and if it has a hole, I do not know where the hole is located. Not acceptable. Too much room for something to go wrong.

I try to tell myself that maybe I'm just seeing things. That maybe nothing moved. Maybe it was all in my head. Tramautically, before I can think much further, my attacker launches from the bag, down the counter, onto the floor and to heaven knows where! I scream bloody hell! Kate wonders what on earth just happened! Shaking, I recount the story. Jerry is back. Jerry, who terrorized me when I lived in my studio, has found me. My first instinct is to leave my apartment and never look back, but even I recognize that is not a very practical solution. I need to shower. I need to go to my job that pays me. I need to RECLAIM MY APARTMENT. I'm at work and he is in the penthouse and he is probably touching my stuff and watching my DVR! He probably deleted those episodes of Tool Academy! I'll never get those back!

Jerry is going down.

Except not really, because I am gripped with a paralyzing fear of Jerry.

I discuss the assault with everyone. Everyone. I go online (HUGE mistake) to try and learn how to keep Jerry away. I am given glue traps that I pray are never used. EVER. I don't want to catch Jerry, I just want him to not come back. Oh, I know I can't blame Jerry. I got cocky up here in the penthouse. Previous tenant had a cat. It's so far up from the basement. He'll never find me here. But he did. Sally tells Kate, "Aunt Mehnane going to show that mouse who is bossy." And I do. I stomp around in my shoes, clapping as I go from room to room. I kick my kitchen cabinets when I get home, so he knows that play time is over. I plug in sonic mouse repellers. I eat canned food and whatever isn't canned is kept in a plastic tote. I sleep with the TV on. (This backfires slightly one morning, when a character on All My Children is whispering and I think someone is in the room whispering to me and I nearly have a heart attack.) I make Kristen come over to keep me company while I clean under my cabinets. I figure she can go for back-up if I get attacked again.

Today, it has been two weeks since the initial assault. Knock on wood, I have not seen any further evidence of Jerry's presence. No, seriously. Knock on wood. I am paranoid and terrified about this stuff. I can only hope that I, too, scared the bejeezus out of him and he has moved on to greener pastures. Or houses that are foolishly leaving their English muffins in Ziploc bags instead of under lock and key in the refrigerator. Fools!