Please Don't Let Your Plastic Blow on Wilshire

During my lunch hour, I had to run a quick errand to the Merrill Lynch in Beverly Hills. I jumped on the bike, hit Wilshire and headed west.

About halfway there, the wind blows a big sheet of plastic into the road. It's about as thick as a grocery bag, but about two feet wide. It might've come off a construction site, I dunno. But of course it gets blown right in front of ME. Before I can maneuver around it, the damn thing gets under my front wheel and wrapped in my spokes.

I figure the wheel's gonna seize and I'm about to eat some street. For one brief moment, my thought was, "Oh, so THIS is how I die." But it didn't freeze the wheel - it got caught up around the hub and wrapped itself around the brake pad.

I pulled over to the side of the road and yanked the plastic out. By some weird coincidence, a green SUV (there's an oxymoron) had broken down on Wilshire, and a cop was using his squad car to push it to the side right in front of me, so I wasn't gonna get plastered by on-coming traffic. Thanks, LAPD.

Very carefully, I remount and hit the road. The front brake works, but it's a little mushy - there's obviously some little piece still in there. Giving traffic tons of space, leaning on the rear brake and playing it ultra-careful, I managed to get to ML and back to the office without dying.

To be blunt, I'm not Mr. Mechanic. I'm the exact opposite of Mr. Mechanic. If you told me that the core workings of an internal combustion engine involved pixie dust and magic, I'd shrug and say, "Okay, cool." My point is, I'm sure if I had the tools and the skill, I'd be able to get the brake pad off, dig out the plastic and get it back on without a problem.

That isn't the situation. So now, just to make sure I don't get a case of the mushy brakes while I'm going down I-10, I gotta take it into the dealership. Luckily, it's around the corner from the lair. Unluckily, it's gonna cost me cash I'm trying to save so I can move.

It's way better than taking a header on Wilshire, but fuck... nothing can be easy, can it?

Aw, Gimme a BREAK!

I'd finally gotten Willie. I SAW the motherfucker eat the poison. And after that... nothing. No mouse turds, so late-night scurrying, nada. One day turned into two, and two turned into a week. There had been lulls before, but never this long. It seemed like, at last, my rodential nightmare had come to an end.

Mm-hm.

Having been once again lulled into a false sense of security, I started to try to pick up the pieces of my life, forging ahead into a kinder, gentler tomorrow.

Last night I read scripts and worked on EXTRADITION until I got sleepy, and hit the sack. (Just another wild Hollywood party night). This morning I awoke, refreshed and ready to tackle the new day. I went into the bathroom, flipping on the shower, and...

...the camera zoomed in on my stunned face even while it dollied back, creating the classic Hitchcock effect as the bottom dropped out of my reality.

THE SOAP WAS GONE.

I raised my fists to the heavens and cried: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Somewhere in the building, Willie paused between mouthfuls of oh-so-delicious, delicious Irish Spring to chuckle in response. Damn his furry soul.

Enough time had passed since our last run-in that there wasn't that much left to the bar. I'd even contemplated rewarding myself by going to Trader Joes and getting one of those swanky soaps that're made from the essence of waterfalls and shit. Good thing I didn't... it would have just been a five-star meal for a mouse.

I mean, I REALLY thought he was gone. No turds, no scurrying, no appearances, posion eaten with a smile. The previous soap stealings had been mouse thefts. This was a mouse HEIST.

(Hmmm... "Mouse Heist." You can kinda see that poster, huh?)

I recall the spindlies pulling this exact same con on me... tons of them all over the place for a while, suddenly no spindlies for a week, I relax, and BAM - I've got one crawling up my arm while I'm brushing my teeth.

And REALLY thinking back... even the hawk that menaced me did the same thing, vanishing for just long enough that I stopped looking over my shoulder, and BAM! Hawk attack! But that's another long and painfully ridiculous story.

I'd like to state for the record that I, Michael T. Kuciak, being of sound mind and body, thinks Mother Nature should go fuck herself and leave me alone.

With a weary heart, before leaving the apartment I made sure the soap was back in the sink. I'm determined to move... the rent's just gotten too high, and I'm pretty sure I can find a place that's both cheaper and better. The mouse isn't scaring me off, but he sure as fuck is acting as a catalyst for action.

Thanks, Willie. Yeah... THANKS, FUCKER.

Even a Cat Doesn't Work

According to this article, a woman borrowed a cat to get rid of a mouse and, instead of eating the damn thing, they became friends.

Guaranteed that's what would happen to me if I tried the same thing.

The Mouse Won't Die!

There is either a clan of very similar-looking mice living in the walls of my building, or just one mouse who is a serious-ass motherfucker. I'm starting to think that, if I blew up a gas tanker this mouse was driving, all I'd do is reveal the T-800 robot skeleton underneath.

Here's why.

Since putting out my deadly D-Con pellet buffets, all evidence of mouse-itude have vanished from the Casa Del Kuch: no mouse turds, no vanishing soap, no mad dashes back-and-forth between the fridge and the pantry, nothing. For a short while, I thought the case was closed.

And this is the truly sick part... For a few nights afterward, I'd come home, sit down to write... and watch for the mouse from the corner of my eye as I worked. I had to admit, a tiny part of me had gotten used to having the mouse around. I kinda missed him.

I guess that's just human nature, but it's strange to find myself missing a creature I'd put a lot of effort into murdering. It's like in CHOPPER, when Eric Bana shivs a dude in prison, and two seconds later he feels bad and apologizes, even while the guy's lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Two nights ago, I wrapped up the pages I was working on and hit the sack. Lying there, waiting for sleep to overtake me, I heard a now-familiar rustling come from the fridge-to-pantry runway.

Rustle-scurry-rustle. Scurry-rustle-scurry.

Which meant there were EVEN MORE mice than I'd predicted... Or it was something else. Maybe the sound was just the wind making the blinds move around? Yeah, that must be it. I drifted off to dreamland...

Then last night the mouse returned, in his most brazen appearance yet.

I own a bicycle, a big, heavy, single-gear beach cruiser. I'd stuck it over by the fridge to keep it out of the way while I work. (If I put it outside, it'll vanish; welcome to LA).

I heard a scurry-rustle from behind the trash can next to the pantry. I quietly went over to look, craning my neck so I could see over the can without moving it.

The mouse was sitting there EATING THE D-CON.

As I've mentioned, a lot of D-Con has vanished lately. In fact, it was all gone, except for the tray I'd left by the pantry. Enough time had transpired that I'd thought about finally throwing it out. Good thing I didn't.

The mouse saw me looking, and made a dash for the fridge. In so doing, he leaped up, grabbed the spokes on the bicycle's rear wheel, and flipped himself from one spoke to the next along the length of the bike until he'd made it all the way across, depositing him at the corner behind the fridge. It was an amazing acrobatic display. If I were writing RATATOUILLE II: REMY'S REVENGE, I'd put this in.

The acrobatics gave me a really good look at him... This mouse is fucking BIG. No wonder I'd thought he was a rat, at first. I realize that's like talking about jumbo shrimp, but you get my drift... When I was working at Noah's Ark, the mice were pretty small, and all white. This guy is the size of a baseball and dark brown, with a white underbelly. I'm also pretty sure it's the same mouse I saw staring at me a couple of weeks ago. Could they all be the same size, the same exact coloration? Maybe, I guess...

He vanished behind the fridge. The show was over. EXTRADITION ain't gonna write itself, so I went back to work.

Not two minutes later, the mouse made another run, this time using the window sill to get from the fridge to the pantry. But, instead of disappearing into his mouse hole, he goes about halfway in and stops, leaving his ass hanging. His tail stuck out in plain view.

This is a brave mouse.

A sudden inspiration came to me. There was a big, brown-paper Trader Joe's shopping bag next to the trash can. I thought... What if I could GRAB the mouse by the tail and drop him into the bag? Sure, he could chew his way out, but not before I'd be able to run him down the block to the Hollywood Forever cemetery and drop him off.

Long/short... I snuck over. Reached down... and just as I got one finger on his tail, in the millisecond it would have taken me to get my thumb and finger together into a mouse-tail-catching vice grip, he SQUEAKED and slithered away.

The mouse escaped.

I picked up the D-Con tray. There wasn't much left. I never thought I would have to get a second helping of poison for my rodent friend(s), but such is life.

Now I'm right back in THE SECRET OF FUCKING NIMH.

Query of the Day

The Atlantis ones are always fun:

"Mysterious disappearance of several military planes in area of the Bermuda Triangle entails a circuit of improbable and stunning events. One of pilots is John Mason at the last instant avoids fatal trap of the Bermuda Triangle, but he is immersed in a coma. Skilled doctor of reanimation is Richard Graffield decides to make experiment with revealing the reasons of a coma of John Mason who has survived in a mysterious trap of Bermuda Triangle. He invites professor Hedberg who is a progressive figure and the innovator in the field of electronic sensory-scanning and feelings diagnostics. Professor Hedberg agrees on experiment and comes to hospital. But at first use of the video-navigation scanner a participants of experiment make inconceivable jump in the time and a space, they becomes witnesses of the real events which happened in the Atlantes Civilization many thousands of years back; hardly later they also get to know the full reason of catastrophe of the Atlantis. Intrigued professor Hedberg decides to finish the research which now throws light not only on the reasons of a coma of John Mason, but also gives a certain caution off possible catastrophe... Professor Hedberg and girl assistant Jane arrive to Tibet, where enshrined in their opinion the secret message of Atlantes to people of the future... After some extreme situations they find out this secret and receive a key for rescue off new planetary catastrophe, which can happen, as the strategic Network already is under threat of start of a nuclear arsenal... At the last moment the secret of great Atlantes and also their fatal mistake becomes clear and simple. And people of our Civilization should correct this mistake..."

The Mouse Returns

Last week, I got sick of this mouse's shit (literally and figuratively), drew the line on mamby-pamby humane traps and score myself some good, old-fashioned poison. I set out the little trays full of aquamarine pellets and, when the pellets from one of the trays disappeared - indicating the mouse had eaten them - I thought this drama had come to an end.

For reasons having a lot to do with distraction and laziness, I neglected to remove the rest of the trays. They were just kinda sitting around. Well, you see where this is going... I woke up on Sunday morning and found another tray empty.

Huh.

There were a lot of possibilities that could have led to that empty tray. I decided it would be best if I left out the rest of the poison, this time on purpose.

Yep, you guessed it... I woke up this morning, and more poison was gone. I'm halfway through the shit.

There are several potential reasons for this:

a) D-Con takes several servings to kill your average mouse.
b) This mouse is not average - he has a gut of steel - and can eat whatever the fuck he wants.
c) This is an average mouse, and D-Con is just weak.
d) There's more than one mouse, and each time the poison vanishes, it's another mouse dead.

I'm leaning toward (d), which makes the most sense, but is also the most dreadful. How did I end up in fucking WILLARD?

First it was black widows, then spindlies, now it's mice. Next it's gonna be raining toads and a plague of locust. I either gotta move, or let Moses and his people go.

Query of the Day

I too am passionate by motorbikes.

"It's a comedy about a young spirited man, passionate by motorbikes, that leaves with his parents, grandma and his fiancée who brings home an unknown man with loss of memory which he saved from death. From that moment their lives will change, other said, who you won't let die, he won't let you live."