EU: This Winter I Got a Mouse in the Oven

This winter, while I was away in Paris, my kitchen in Sweden became an unexpected habitat for an unwelcome guest: a mouse that took up residence in my oven. The discovery upon my return was, to put it mildly, pungent. The distinct aroma of a deceased rodent, roasted within the appliance, has rendered the oven not just unusable, but a rather morbid piece of modern art.

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I have a mouse in my oven. It is not a euphemism. I have an actual oven. And I have an actual mouse. And somewhere in the middle, the two have now met.

It appears the unfortunate creature found its way in through a small vent, perhaps seeking warmth or sustenance, and met its end amidst the oven's internal wiring and insulation. The resulting smell, a potent mix of burnt flesh, has forced an evacuation of the kitchen, leaving me with only a bottle of wine and some cornichons as my provisions. The oven, once a symbol of domesticity and culinary creation, is now a monument to decay, a simulacrum in Baudrillard's sense – a copy that has lost all connection to its original function.

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The smell of my former mouse has made the oven unusable.

As a commentary on the ephemeral nature of modern life and the relentless struggle against the small, persistent annoyances that plague us, this oven-mouse saga is surprisingly profound. It serves as a memento mori, a stark reminder of mortality, and a testament to the housewife's unending battle against pests. I intend to offer this unique 'sculpture' online, presenting it as a challenging yet beautiful piece that speaks to the fragility of our existence and the unexpected ways nature reclaims even our most sterile environments. It’s a story that resonates deeply here, where the mundane often collides with the absurd, creating narratives that are uniquely ours.

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The oven has become a modern, interactive work of art – you have to dare to turn it on to get the full experience.