The Return of My Tormentors

November 15, 2012
Happy Birthday, Patrick T. Range! (Now, skip around the room!)

As for me, I have been going to bed at dark. If I put the reading lamp on, the little porch where I sleep swarms with all kinds of insects that fly in your eyes, your hair, your nose, your ears, and then in your mouth if you leave it open. I have been pestered with all kinds of insects. Dorothy Day

Would I prefer insects to mice? Probably. Though Dorothy likely dealt with both, given her life in the shabby Catholic Worker tenements in lower Manhattan, as well as on the farms. And the mice must have been so commonplace- so much a part of her daily life- that they never commanded enough attention to be spoken of in her writings.

Well, I’m no Dorothy Day, so brace yourselves. I have zero tolerance for mice. “Oh, but they’re cute and harmless!” Wrong and wrong. Encounter a dead mouse caught in a trap and tell me that’s cute. Examine what they leave behind and try to convince me that’s harmless. They are germ-carrying menaces and I want nothing to do with them, especially in what was to be a 5-week sanctuary. But alas, mice have become such a part of my daily life here at Nada, and try as I might, they cannot escape my attention. Over the last 10 days their presence has grown from faint scratching behind the walls to frighteningly-close squeaking. All too familiar noises.

You see, it wasn’t so long ago that these creatures first tormented me. (Summer 2011: Campion Towers, Loyola University Maryland.) I swear on all that is good that I nearly went mad in my vigilance that summer. It would be better for everyone if I do not reach that place- so far from sanity- again.

When I mentioned my observation of the mice in the walls, Thomas, the Tennessee-born Carmelite brother here, said proudly, “I’ve already caught 8 in my first week here!” Though he offered to set up traps for me last week (and collect what was trapped,) I declined. My theory was that they seemed to be content within the walls and may just stay there. Enticing them out of the walls with peanut butter would make certain that our paths would cross. I would deal with the eerie scratching as long as a wooden barrier remained between us.

However, yesterday’s squeaking has brought this situation to a whole new level. They have crossed the barrier. It’s like Summer ’11 all over again. And I’m quite certain some symptoms of post-traumatic stress are emerging.

The main problem- even beyond disease- is sleep. It’s been a long while since I slept soundly, as I did my second blessed night here (the night after the coyote call.) It’s not that the scratching is so loud that it keeps me awake; it’s that the scratching keeps my imagination running wild with horrid scenarios sure to plague me after my eyes close. 

So, I’ve developed new theories for sounder sleep over the last week:

1. Keep all the lights on all night. Mice will avoid light.

When that felt too wasteful (and counterproductive to my effort to fall asleep):
2.  Keep only the bedside light on all night. I’m pretty sure mice will avoid light.

When that caused me to wake up repeatedly still, only to be reminded instantly of why the light was on:

3.  Keep the bathroom fan on to drown out the scratching noise. I’m not so sure mice will necessarily avoid light.

When the power went out and back on again during the night, twice, causing me to awaken at the sudden noise and be reminded instantly of why I had turned the fan on:

4. Write about my night terrors and plead for better theories.