Death in Tehran

December 6, 2007 at 12:57 pm (Uncategorized)

One morning, the Persian king’s servant is shopping in the marketplace, where he encounters Death browsing amongst the stalls.  Frightened out of his wits, the servant abandons his shopping and rushes back to the palace.  He recounts his meeting with Death, and begs the king for money and permission to flee to Tehran, which the king grants.  Later that day, the king himself meets Death and accosts Death for scaring his servant away.  To which Death replies that it was not Its intention to scare the servant; Death was merely surprised to see him in the marketplace, since Death knew It was going to meet the servant in Tehran that night. 

I feel as if I’ve written about this before.  This is quickly becoming the story of my life.   Those of you who know anything about my past living situation know that I was in an ongoing battle against two major foes: plumbing disasters and mice.  This, I consoled myself, was all just part of living in an old farmhouse.  (Yes, there are old farmhouses in the Bronx.  Alas, the farmhouse where I once lived was torn down last week.  There is now a huge gaping hole next to my mother’s home where my dwelling used to be).

I thought such problems were behind me once I moved into a modern, newly (and still being) renovated apartment building.  Foolish me.  My bathroom ceiling is leaking, the plaster is coming down, and every evening I hear the hiss and drip of escaping water.   Even so, I can live with this, because I have a Super who will take care of these things, and has already found the leak and is making plans to fix the plaster.

But two nights ago I heard some scrabbling that sent the cold knife of terror into my heart.  I was on the phone with TragicCrusade, who suggested that it was just the rustle of a plastic bag.  However, I had closed the windows: there was no wind to shake the plastic bags.  I knew what it was, much as I wanted to deny it.  To be safe, I bought some mouse poison and put it around the apartment. 

Last night I woke to the sounds of a tiny animal screaming.

Why, oh why, must the thing I fear the most be the thing that plagues me most often?  Why can’t I have an irrational fear of slugs, instead, like SuperFudge?  Chances are slugs would never invade my apartment.  I live in constant terror.   AND, now that I’ve moved away, I don’t even have SuperFudge around to rescue me! (Not only is she an amazing Navigatrix, she is an excellent trap-layer, mousecatcher,  and carcass disposer).

My home is no longer a comfort to me.



  1. ashyknees said,

    I hate mieces to pieces! The snap trap is my favorite means of execution.

  2. Quiconque said,

    But…but…bloody headless carcasses! Who’s going to clean that up? Me?!!

    TragicCrusade, I am now officially a Damsel in Distress. Please save me!

  3. TragicCrusade said,

    I got your back.

  4. Quiconque said,

    My hero!

  5. Ten Feet of Steel said,

    Too bad you are allergic to cats. There is a sweet stray cat in the basement of my building that needs a home.

  6. Mama Ass said,

    What about an ultrasonic rodent repellent? Maybe that will help get the sensitive rodents out the house.

  7. Quiconque said,

    Do those work?

  8. Ten Feet of Steel said,

    What about the peppermint oil that worked at the big house?

  9. TragicCrusade said,

    Heres hoping I dont get somnambulantly hungry for peanut-butter at some point while visiting.

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