of mice and (wo)men

So I have a mouse problem. I didn’t have mouse problem last week. It didn’t become a problem until my CP mentioned that there were mice in her house and then they magically appeared in my ger. My current thinking is that there is a secret mouse spy network and they heard her talking to me and decided to invade the poor American and drive her insane.

My first mouse sighting was when I woke up for school one morning last week. It didn’t do anything, no noise, just scurried away from under my kitchen cabinet/table. I think it was scouting the area. Clearly it liked what it saw because ever since then, I have been engaged in the Great Mouse War of 2011. Unfortunately, until today, I have been on the losing side. I hear it/them (official numbers are still in question) gnawing at my wood box when I’m trying to sleep and then I can’t fall asleep. I once made the mistake of not COMPLETELY covering my food at night and I came back to little bits nibbled away. I've put food in bags, which were promptly eaten through. Last night I woke up to the sound of one of the little beasts trying to eat a ceramic bowl at 5:00am. I also found mouse droppings in said bowl when I investigated fully – clearly they are embracing psychological torture and are trying to taunt me with their stealthy and evil ways.

But today, today the tide of war changes. I told my CP about the evil mouse invasion this morning and after lunch she brought by some mouse poison. Of course the package is written in Russian and Chinese so I can only understand a word here and there – nothing actually helpful. I then went to read my book in my bed because it’s pretty much the only warm place since the afternoons don’t quite warrant a fire yet. So there I am, reading about Anne and Mary Boleyn and waiting for this incredibly long book to develop a plot, when I hear a rustling noise in my plastic bag collection under my dry sink. I mutter bad names at my mouse-enemy and go over to investigate and shoo it away. Turns out this one isn’t the brightest of the bunch and had gotten itself stuck in one of the little bags. Seizing the opportunity to get rid of one of the invaders without having to kill it outright or deal with poison, I snatched up the bag. Mr. Mouse was not pleased and started flailing about, trying to escape its new prison. I had the oh-so brilliant idea to take it outside, but of course I wasn’t wearing shoes and couldn’t find any that I could easily slip on. I found my boots, half put them on, and yelped with terror every time my prisoner moved because I thought it would escape and bite me and then I would die of the plague (only logical). Holding the tiny bag at the top as far away from me as possible without letting it slip from my fingers, I ran outside to drop it off in the outhouse as punishment for torturing me, still terrified and still yelping (squealing, screaming, call it what you will). Just try to envision me, a ridiculous American, running through the yard with my boots not zipped and dragging on the ground, making strange noises, holding a bag with a tiny mouse and sincerely hoping it doesn’t break free. Ridiculous. One of those moments where I wish someone had been filming so I could see just how ridiculous it was. It was only after successfully completing my mission that I realized that I was afraid to go to the bathroom incase the mouse intended to stage its next assault from there. Maybe tonight the rest of its friends will come for me with a vengeance and get me in my sleep. Oh the things I never thought I’d have to deal with when I came to Mongolia.