The NYT article (11/8/15) on mice/rat pest control for condo/home owners
reminds me of an exciting time when I rented my first loft, in a factory building,
on University Place, Manhattan, early 70s. I had always wanted to live in a loft
and this was 2500 square feet with great light. My top floor unit also had all the
pipes showing -- the "industrial look "as it was later called.
At 4:30 pm the small manufacturers downstairs closed shop. I was to be the only
human in the building at night, a fact that frightened my friends, but I loved it and
felt I had the best deal in New York.
I settled in my first evening with some grub I had bought from a local coffee shop.
My only furniture consisted of a small bed, a wonderfully strong and large coffee
table, a rocking chair, and a radio.
As it got darker, much to my shock and fear, it seemed that hundreds of mice had
invaded my space. Scared to death, I threw my rocking chair on top of the coffee
table, turned up the radio full volume, grabbed my bassoon and played the entire
night to keep awake and see where these horrible creatures were coming from, and,
As soon as it got lighter, my invaders disappeared. I ran out to get the Village Voice.
Luckily for me there was an ad stating a 'country cat' was available. Immediately I
called the owners and shortly thereafter met Elizabeth (their name for her).
This apparently was the solution. No more mice! Elizabeth worked for me checking corner
to corner for 13 years. She instinctively knew what to do.
One beautiful summer day, we were sunbathing in my bedroom -- Elizabeth at my feet
purring away. (We were both sun lovers.) Suddenly a mouse came through the open
window. I jumped up and yelled for her to pay attention. She sleepily ignored me.
I ran out and closed the door, hoping her age would not be a problem. Two hours later,
I re-entered. Elizabeth was now awake, in the same spot, looking at me with an expression saying: "What the hell. It's time for me to retire."