Nothing's Perfect

I wish you could be here with me right now. It's a beautiful Sunday morning. I can hear the occasional bike rider mosey on by, the spokes of his wheels whirring as he rides. A few minutes ago, a tattoo-clad hipster placed his used crap on the sidewalk, a cigarette askew between his lips, in the hopes that someone (the garbage man?) might take it away. About an hour ago, a sad little parade traversed Powers street, making its way down Leonard to the tunes of decrepit middle school bass drums.

Ahhh, The Brooklyn Nook.

But all is not peaches and cream here in what someone once referred to as "Heaven on Earth." Although today is relatively tranquil, I have just been privy to a week that can only be described as a roller coaster ride of awfulness. I try not to be too self-indulgent on this thing and turn it into a giant forum for "This is why my life sucks," but since it IS my blog, I'm going to compromise. I'm going to write an entry about one reason why my life sucks. Just one. And then I'll move on to brighter things. Sound good? If that compromise doesn't satisfy you, I'll make it exciting... with a classic WMWC scene!

Scene: BiddyLuddy, The Boyfriend, and Cupcake Lover stumble in the front door of The Brooklyn Nook after a full day of burgers, dogs, pizza, and beer. It is only a little past midnight, but the whole crowd is sleepy and full and about ready to get to bed. The Boyfriend heads into the kitchen, perhaps to brush his teeth or to remove his contact lenses... or both... when Cupcake Lover hears a high-pitched yell from the kitchen side of the railroad style apartment...

The Boyfriend: Ohhhh my God!

Cupcake Lover: What is it? What's wrong?

The Boyfriend: Oh my God, you have RATS.

Cupcake Lover: What? What are you talking about? 

The Boyfriend: I saw one picking at the garbage over here. 

The Boyfriend points to the space between the stove and the wall where the garbage can IS looking a little bit out of control.

Cupcake Lover: Wait a minute, there is a very distinct difference between "RATS" and "A RAT." Did you see multiple rats? Or just one? DO NOT say we have RATS unless you saw them in, like, a pack or something. Was there a pack?

The Boyfriend: Just one, he was eating at the garbage.

Cupcake Lover: Where did he go?

The Boyfriend: He's still behind the stove! Quick! Where's your camera? We have to take a picture to show your landlord!

The  Boyfriend goes to grab said camera, while Cupcake Lover takes a peek behind the stove. She discovers that yes, indeed, there IS a fat rat sitting behind her beautiful gas stove. In her beautiful apartment. She whimpers a bit.

Photo Copyright: The Boyfriend

The Boyfriend returns, camera in hand.

The Boyfriend: I can't get a good picture! Come here and look at this one. Can you see a tail?

Cupcake Lover: Stop taking pictures of the rat! Ugh. I can't believe we have a rat. We should just put some cheese in the broiler or something and lure him in.

The Boyfriend stops taking pictures, aghast.

The Boyfriend: That's horrible! You want to BROIL the rat?

Cupcake Lover thinks that yes, that's exactly what she meant. But she covers up her malicious intentions quickly, lest The Boyfriend think she's some sort of sadist.

Cupcake Lover: Uhhh, no, I just meant we could trap him in there. With the broiler OFF of course. [Whew, nice save.] Anyway, put the camera down. We'll close the door to the kitchen - it's not like rats can climb into the bed or anything. Tomorrow we'll call the exterminator.

The Boyfriend: Okay. Well, I think I got at least one good picture.

Cupcake Lover and The Boyfriend turn to leave the kitchen, knowing they can't do much of anything to amend the situation at the moment. Cupcake Lover goes to switch off the kitchen light... together they close the kitchen door. And double check to make sure it's closed. Both are a little uneasy and questioning whether or not rats, with their sticky little paws, CAN climb into the bed. No matter. It's time to sleep.

The Boyfriend: Goodnight, Lucifer.

Cupcake Lover: Do NOT name the rat!

End Scene.

This whole travesty happened a few weeks ago, but the saga of The Rat has not ended. We set out some poison for the little bastard, but for weeks he didn't touch it. Until last night, when our adorable Welsh subletter, who has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor since we have had some trouble obtaining a bed frame (but will soon!), woke up dreamily thinking there was a cat on her bed.

Needless to say, we do not have a cat.

The Rat had CRAWLED ONTO HER BED. Yes, you heard that right. ON HER BED.

The poor thing moved halfway across the world only to wind up with vermin in her bed. Granted, she seems to be way less offended than she probably should be (plus now she has a timeless New York City story to tell all her "mates"), but I still feel bad. And disappointed that my perfect little Nook isn't so perfect after all. I love living here, but I can't help but be a little upset that my third roommate is furry.

No matter. That rat is going DOWN. How dare he disturb my happiness! As I write this, a trap is set with a little piece of hamburger bun and peanut butter. It looks enticing, sitting next to the rat poison by the stove. Mmmm mmmm mmmm. Sounds delicious, right Lucifer?

And, well, if all else fails... I'm turning on the broiler.