The mouse house era
Back in my 20s, I lived in an east London house-share with my best friends, and our vibe was peak chaotic. We were basically codependent, doing everything together from festival trips to drafting risky text messages. We were also, let’s be real, not exactly the cleanest roommates. Our cluttered space turned out to be the ultimate luxury resort for mice.
The siege begins
At first, we saw one darting behind the sofa, but we quickly realized the hard truth: it’s never just one. After doing some panicked internet research on how fast these things multiply, our horror levels went from zero to one hundred real quick. We tried everything to reclaim our territory—humane traps (which were a total flop), wire wool in the skirting boards, and aggressive cleaning. We even reached the point of buying inhumane traps, but the mice were honestly outsmarting us at every turn.
The toaster incident
One night while jamming to Beyoncé, I decided to make some toast. I turned the toaster upside down to clear out the crumbs and—you’re not going to believe this—a literal live mouse fell out onto the counter. I screamed like I was in a horror movie, but the mouse just stared back at me. Honestly? It had the main character energy. It looked at me like I was the one invading its cozy, carb-filled home. I didn’t touch that toaster for weeks after that.
Why it matters
While I definitely don't miss the infestation or our landlord who 'fixed' our roof with a piece of tarpaulin, I lowkey miss the chaotic energy of that time. It was a reminder that even when your living situation is a total L, the memories you make with your besties are the ones that stick with you, even if they come with a few uninvited rodents.
