Like He Owns the Place

I'm on a Zoom call when, out of the corner of my eye, I spy movement in the kitchen. A mouse is skirting his way around my Simplehuman brand semi-round step can in brushed steel. It looks a little like a Tesla Cybertruck, only nicer. The mouse spies the trap I've baited with Nutella, thinks better of it, and then darts out of my line of sight. As you may have guessed, I suspected something was up days ago and took measures with haste. Do I have one mouse or dozens? It's too soon to tell.

I go back to my Zoom call. Maybe ten minutes later, I spy more movement. Now, he's taken to dragging his giant mouse balls around my living room, surveying the perimeter, tiny transit level in tow. That I, a human, am also in the living room, talking on a Zoom call with other humans, and even that I am clearly watching him are of no serious concern. He's grown old and shaggy, emboldened by the years, I don't doubt.

As I watch him casually stroll behind the entertainment center, come out the other side, and then wander beneath the radiator cover, I feel something in my mind snap. I was already counting down the time on my lease with two hundred and forty-eight days left to go, but I plan to work something out sooner. Practically speaking, I will likely be stuck here until at least early next year, but I am determined, and the wheels are in motion.