Mice can choose to visit your apartment for a variety of reasons: maybe you’ve got an excess of crumbs sprinkled across your floor, or maybe they wiggled their way in through a crack or hole and found your closet pleasantly warm, or perhaps they just want to fuck with your notoriously slow cat. However, none of those scenarios ring true in my case –– mice come to my apartment simply because they loves me.
While it’s true that mice can sense excess food in your apartment from miles away, it’s also true that they can sense your good heart and sweet nature and be magnetically drawn to your aura.
At least, that’s what I’ve noticed to be true for me. Mice just want to be near me. They want to bathe in the warmth of my energy. Quite simply? They loves me.
I’m not like other people with mice infestations. I’m not messy or gross or neglectful of my space. I’m not oblivious or unobservant or disorganized. I merely exude an aura of lightness and goodwill, and the mice respond to that in kind.
Mice don’t seek out my space for what it might offer them in terms of food, shelter, warmth, or safety –– no, they seek me out. They loves me. And I, them.
I know this because mice don’t simply scamper under my couch or nest in my pantry during the cold winter months, or when my food stores are plentiful. No, mice look to be in my presence because I make them feel like the best version of themselves. They come in the balmy summer months, they come when I have nothing in my cabinets but a 12-pack of Diet Coke.
We may not eat every time they visit me, but we do laugh.
My apartment isn’t always a better environment than what they’re experiencing outdoors, but it does always offer stimulating conversation and a safe space where everyone can come as they are.
I’m not trying to brag, or turn my nose up at the people who have never once had a mouse seek out their presence as like a ship seeking out a port in a storm. Nor am I trying to disparage those who are only sought out by mice because of what they can materially offer them.
No, I’m just trying to speak plainly about the relationship the mice and I have. I’m just trying to showcase why I have a handful, if not dozens, of mice in my apartment at any given time.
I am a beautiful soul, and that is never more clear to me than when I see a mouse wriggle out from under my pillow, or cower under my oven.
They crave closeness to me, and who I am to deny them that? And if you can’t find it in your heart to believe that, then you have no place here, and you can go. But just let this act of internalized jealousy be a learning opportunity –– this is exactly the reason the mice never visit you. Just like your apartment, you may be clean and pristine, but you lack warmth. You lack humor. You lack wit. The mice don’t loves you the way they loves me.
