Living with roommates

I've always been an independent type. I love to travel, and harbour a distinct preference for living alone. It's not that I hate to live with others it's just that somehow, I've never found a flatmate I've liked for very long. When I moved to New York, I considered finding a roommate. I figured, with the high cost of rent in the city, it might allow me to live in a bigger apartment. Perhaps it would be a good way to meet people. Maybe I would even like it. But moving to a new city doesn't transform you into a new person. When the excitement dies down, you realize that you are still the same soul, with all the same likes, dislikes and eccentricities. After consideration, I opted to live the blissfully self-centred life of a single girl in a Manhattan studio apartment. Accordingly, there are certain things I can be sure of. When I leave a pristine apartment in the morning, I know it will stay spotless until my return. When there's mess, I am consoled in the knowledge that at least it's my dirt (and how can that be bad?) So imagine my surprise and disgust, when I returned late one evening to find that I had acquired an unwanted new roommate. It was a steamy New York night. I had been out with friends, enjoyed their company for a few hours, but then felt like spending a little me-time at home. I envisioned walking through the door, kicking off my shoes and cranking the air conditioner, collapsing onto my bed and watching a film. I could already taste the feeling of calm it would afford me. But as I walked down my hallway and switched on the studio light, there she was: a small brown mouse, sitting on my window ledge. I panicked. So did the mouse, and scurried across the windowsill, but there wasn't really anywhere for it to hide. After all, if you live in a studio apartment, you're keenly aware of another's presence at all times. Understand, these are the moments when a girl misses her daddy. Back home, one phone call would be enough to send him promptly over to my house armed with a broom, a jar and a can of bug spray (okay, so we usually deal with insects, not rodents). Everything would be all right. Here, I was at a loss. Frozen with fear, I managed to call a girlfriend. She was sympathetic, but couldn't offer much in the way of help. I called a guy friend. Unwilling to attend the scene immediately, he coaxed me into grabbing a few things and spending the night at his apartment, with the promise that in the morning we would return and eradicate the mouse. I can't say I was happy, but it was the best offer I had. The next morning, we headed for my apartment, via the local hardware store. The assistant there delighted in describing the various ways I could trap or kill the rodent. Somehow, the idea of finding a dead mouse seemed even worse to me than finding one living. So, $60 later, I left the store, armed with a humane mouse-catching house and a set of plug-in electric deterrence devices big enough to outfit a three-bedroom house. We performed a full mouse-check, found nothing and set up the trap and devices. I was mildly placated. So far, the mouse has not been back. And ironically, when I think about it, I'd probably have felt a lot better about the whole situation, if I had been facing it with a roommate.