MADRID: My unwanted house guest

I have a new friend and his name is Benjy. He’s a pleasant little guy, for the most part. Benjy is really small, has luscious brown hair and enjoys snacking on plastic from time to time. He takes naps in my luggage, poops in my shoes and insists on keeping me up at night. I’ve only actually seen him a handful of times, but the stare in his beady eyes is obviously one of genuine friendship.

Benjy is a scurrier. The first time I met him he was scurrying through my bedroom. I had just spent the weekend in New York visiting friends and wanted nothing more than to make sweet, exhausted love to my bed. I swung the door to my room open and immediately sensed a petite presence. Doubting my instincts, I ignored the thought and went about my bedtime routine. I gargled, brushed my hair and read one of my many distinguished bedtime stories, “Throbbing Members Light Her Embers.” It was during my nightly prayer to Robert Goulet’s mustache that something caught my eye. A shadow had just darted under my bed. I ignored it using my most convincing rationale: If I pretended it hadn’t happened, it hadn’t actually happened.

As I lay in my bed counting ‘staches, my concentration was broken by a particularly irritating sound. What sounded like nibbling was coming from the depths of my under-bed. Oh no, I thought to myself, I definitely have a mouse.

This is my first mouse. I don’t know about you guys, but the thought of a rodent creeping all up in my business freaks me out. Then again, when I finally did get a glimpse of the little man, I have to admit, I thought he was pretty cute. Sure, he enjoys ruining my personal belongings and is likely ridden with disease, but he has a wiggly little nose! And he’s fun-sized!

I don’t know what to do. How do I get rid of something that is both repulsive and endearing? It’s like my middle school boyfriend Matt, who never showered but always gave me hugs. I’ve considered setting up your basic mouse-trap contraption. There’s the classic spring trap, designed to lure Benjy in with the promise of cheese, only to decapitate him mid-effort. Or I could opt for the iron-jaw trap, which I’m sure I’d step in before him. I even considered the seemingly less violent glue trap, but PETA threatened to put a hit on me. Something about a cruel, slow death.

I decided to do my research about Benjy and discovered that the mouse is regarded to be the third most successful mammalian species living on earth today, after humans and the mouse’s bitter, estranged cousin, the rat! While doing my research, I got distracted by the retro-chic video game, Mouse Trap. Realizing that I was probably hurting Benjy’s feelings by playing in the same room as him I apologized and stopped. I can’t kill Benjy. Not only because he’s cute, but because he’s worked hard to get to where he is today. He truly is a smart little mouse. While his contemporaries are haunting the apartments of ruthless mice massacre enthusiasts, Benjy knew I wouldn’t kill him. Wait — he’s totally taking advantage of me! What a free loader — but a cute one! I just can’t stay mad at him. Benjy is such a charmer.

I could continue to coexist with Benjy. I mean, it’s not as if he’s done anything too bad yet. Who needs to walk around barefoot without a care in the world about stepping on vermin or vice-versa? When did it become a human right to sleep well at night, free of skittish nightmares? It would be great. We could have wine and cheese nights, just me and my pal the rodent. Tastefully red-toothed, Benjy and I would watch Sex and the City together, giggling and sharing racy stories of mice and men. Things would run smoothly for a couple weeks, at most. I’d rub his feet after a long day of stealthy tip-toeing and he’d fix me dinners rich in wall chippings and grasshoppers. Eventually, I’d probably get sick of cleaning up after his reckless pooping and he’d call me a whore.

My friend offered to lend me one of those sonar “traps” designed to pierce Benjy’s eardrums so badly that he’ll pack up and leave on his own accord. I think this is my best option mainly because we can end our friendship on amicable terms. He’ll think it was his idea to leave and if I ever need help gnawing a hole through my wall, I can ask him to come over and help. Sorry Benjy — it’s not you, it’s me.

Isis Madrid, a junior in the College of Communication, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. She can be reached at im@bu.edu.