I spent a restless night listening to mice or rats doing their best to knaw through a plastic mask that I had propped up against a hole inside my bathroom cabinet. It was secured by a large jar of vaseline. Earlier in the day I'd been horrified to discover that the rustling sounds that I'd been hearing at night while soaking inside my claw foot tub were not the rumblings of a restless ghost but could be traced to mice or even rats.
I immediately rushed out and bought bags and bags of steel wool and stuffed the huge opening at the base of the side of the victorian that I call home. But, it had been like filling a sink hole. I returned to the hardware store for more steel wool and stuffed the hole as best I could. Obviously, it hadn't been enough. I heard the rodents tapping their teeth against the plastic mask like they owned the place. They acted like they were Fred Flintstone.
The next morning my agent phoned. I answered her Sunday morning call, bleary eyed and stressed out. I didn't know if the mice or rats had prevailed. or not. I just knew that I felt more like a struggling slum dweller than a best selling author.
"April you have to get your voice back out there!" Winifred insisted. "People need to hear from you, especially during this time!"
"I'll get back to my writing." I yawned. "But, right now I'm dealing with mice or maybe even rats! They've gotten into my bathroom cabinet."
"Oh my God!" Winifred shrieked from inside her La Jolla home.
I felt embarassed that my agent knew that I was battling rodents. There was a stigma attached to such a struggle. Never mind that I was careful not to leave food out. It still brought poverty and slobism to mind. And, isn't image everything in America today?
"Mice or rats!" Winifred shouted. "That's awful! But, that's good material." She added calmly.
Causes April Sinclair Supports
Alameda County Community Food Bank
Wardrobe for Opportunity