My Landlord Said "It's Just Mice." I Pay $1,900/Month. I Have a 3-Year-Old. Droppings in Every Drawer. Scratching Every Night. 11 Months Left on My Lease. I Couldn't Move.
Couldn't Afford an Exterminator. So I Solved It Myself for a Few Dollars.
A single mother trapped in a lease with a landlord who refused to address a mouse infestation shares how she eliminated mice from her apartment without traps, poison, or her landlord's help using plant-based pouches that cost less than one day of the rent she pays to live in a building that's infested.
★★★★★ 144,354 Ratings
By Danielle Reeves | Home & Living | September 4th, 2026 | 6:00 am EST
THIS ISN'T A STORY ABOUT MICE. THIS IS A STORY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE PAYING $1,900 A MONTH TO LIVE IN SOMEONE ELSE'S BUILDING AND THEY DON'T CARE THAT YOUR DAUGHTER IS CRAWLING THROUGH MOUSE DROPPINGS.
I want to say something before I start.
I'm not dirty. My apartment is not dirty. I clean every single day. I sweep. I mop. I wipe down every counter. I take the trash out every night. I don't leave food on the counter. I don't leave dishes in the sink. My apartment is spotless.
I need to say that because when you tell people you have mice, the first thing they think is: she must be dirty. The first thing the landlord says is: you must be attracting them. The first thing the internet suggests is: clean better.
I clean better than anyone I know. The mice don't come because I'm dirty. They come because the building is old, the walls have gaps, the pipes have openings, and the landlord hasn't sealed anything since 1997.
I've been living with mice for fourteen months. In a one-bedroom apartment with my three-year-old daughter Zoe and our cat Olive. Paying $1,900 a month for a lease I can't break without losing my security deposit and paying a two-month penalty. $5,700 to leave.
I don't have $5,700. I barely have $190 left after rent, daycare, groceries, and utilities.
So I stayed. For fourteen months. In an apartment where mice ran across my kitchen floor at night. Where I found droppings in the silverware drawer every morning. Where my three-year-old picked up a mouse dropping off the living room carpet and almost put it in her mouth before I screamed and slapped it out of her hand.
That was the moment. The moment a mother shouldn't have to have.
And the landlord's response, when I called him shaking and crying?
"It's just mice. Every building has mice. You're being hysterical."
Hysterical. That's the word he used. To a mother whose three-year-old almost ate a mouse dropping off the floor she mopped that morning.
I Called My Landlord 9 Times in 14 Months. I Texted 23 Times. I Emailed 11 Times. He Sent an Exterminator Twice. The Mice Never Left. He Never Cared.
The first time I reported the mice, I was polite. Professional. Calm. The way you're supposed to be when you're asking someone to maintain the property you're paying $1,900 a month to occupy.
"Hi, I've noticed some mouse activity in the kitchen droppings in the drawers and under the sink. Could you send someone to take a look?"
He replied three days later: "I'll look into it."
Two weeks passed. Nothing happened. More droppings. In the kitchen. In the bathroom. Along the baseboard behind Zoe's crib.
Behind my daughter's crib.
I called again. Less calm this time. "There are mouse droppings behind my daughter's crib. She sleeps there. She's eight months old. I need someone out here."
He sent an exterminator. A guy showed up with a bag of snap traps. Set six of them. Along the kitchen baseboards. Under the bathroom sink. Behind the stove.
In my apartment. Where my baby crawls. Where my cat explores every corner. Snap traps on the floor of a 650-square-foot apartment with a crawling infant and a curious cat.
He caught two mice the first week. I felt a flicker of hope. Then I found Olive my cat — sniffing one of the traps near the stove. Her nose was half an inch from the trigger plate. One bump and the bar would have slammed on her face.
I pulled every trap that night. Threw them in the dumpster. Texted the landlord: "The traps are dangerous for my baby and my cat. I need a different solution."
His response: "Traps are standard pest control. I've fulfilled my obligation."
Fulfilled his obligation. Six snap traps on the floor of a baby's home. Obligation fulfilled.
The droppings came back within a week. Of course they did. Two mice caught. The colony behind the wall untouched. The gaps in the pipes unsealed. The hole behind the stove still open.
I called again. And again. And again.
Call three: "I'll send someone when I can."
Call four: "These things take time."
Call five: "Are you sure you're not leaving food out?"
Are you sure you're not leaving food out. To a woman who bleaches her counters every night. Who sweeps after every meal. Who stores everything in sealed containers. Who keeps the tightest kitchen in the building because she's terrified of what the mice might contaminate while her daughter sleeps twenty feet away.
Call six: No answer.
Call seven: No answer.
Call eight: He picked up. Sighed. "Look, Danielle, I've sent pest control. I can't do more than that. Every building in this city has mice. If you're not happy, you're welcome to find another apartment."
Find another apartment. With $190 left after bills. With a lease that costs $5,700 to break. In a rental market where comparable apartments are $2,100 and up. With a three-year-old and a cat and a full-time job and no family within a hundred miles.
He knew I couldn't leave. That's why he didn't care.
Call nine the last one I was standing in my kitchen at 11 PM. Zoe was asleep. I'd just found droppings on the tray of her high chair. The surface where I put her food. I was shaking. Not from anger. From exhaustion. Fourteen months of this. Fourteen months of cleaning and calling and begging and being told I was hysterical.
"Please. I'm finding droppings on my daughter's high chair. On the tray she eats off of. She's three years old. Please send someone. Please do something. Please."
"I've already sent pest control twice. I can't keep sending people every time you see a mouse. I have other tenants."
I hung up. Set the phone on the counter. Looked at the high chair tray with the droppings I hadn't cleaned yet because I wanted him to hear it in my voice while they were still there.
And I realized: nobody is coming. Nobody is fixing this. The landlord doesn't care. The exterminator can't reach the colony behind the walls. The lease has me locked in for eleven more months. My daughter is eating off a surface that mice walk across every night. And I'm the only person in the world who's going to do anything about it.
So I stopped calling the landlord. And I started looking for something I could do myself.
I Had $190 Left After Bills. I Couldn't Afford an Exterminator. I Couldn't Use Poison — I Have a Toddler and a Cat. I Couldn't Use Traps 650 Square Feet, No Safe Place to Put Them. I Was Running Out of Options.
When you're a single mother with $190 left at the end of the month, your pest control budget is exactly zero dollars. An exterminator costs $300 to $400. I literally could not afford it.
And even if I could what would the exterminator do? Set the same traps the landlord's guy set. In the same spots. Catch two mice. The colony behind the wall sends more. Droppings return within a week. $400 for a week of hope.
So I did what every broke, desperate, exhausted mother does at midnight when her baby is asleep and the mice are running the kitchen: I went to Reddit.
I posted in r/ApartmentLiving: "Single mom. Mice in my apartment. Landlord won't help. Can't afford exterminator. Can't use poison (toddler + cat). Can't use snap traps (too small, too dangerous). 11 months left on lease. Someone please help me."
That post got 1,200 upvotes. Hundreds of comments. And almost every single one was a variation of the same nightmare:
"Same situation. Landlord ignores me. Mice everywhere. I cry every night."
"I've been dealing with this for TWO YEARS. The building sends an exterminator every month. Traps everywhere. Mice don't stop. I'm losing my mind."
"I found droppings inside my baby's crib. INSIDE. I called the landlord screaming. He said 'every building has mice.' I can't afford to move."
"I tried peppermint oil. Dryer sheets. Steel wool. All worthless. The mice used the dryer sheets as bedding. I'm not joking."
Hundreds of mothers. Hundreds of apartments. Hundreds of landlords who don't care. All of us trapped. All of us cleaning droppings off surfaces our children eat from. All of us being told we're hysterical.
But buried in those comments 47 replies deep one woman said something different:
"Stop trying to catch them. You'll never out-trap a colony in a building. You need to make YOUR apartment somewhere they refuse to enter. PestLab Rodent Repellent Pouches. Plant-based. Safe around babies and cats. A few pouches. Your apartment will smell like a bakery and the mice will go bother someone else's unit. I did this eight months ago. Zero mice since. And I didn't need my landlord's permission, his money, or his help."
That last line. I didn't need my landlord's permission.
After fourteen months of begging a man who owns a building to protect my daughter from contamination in a unit I pay $1,900 a month for those words hit me like electricity.
I didn't need his permission. I didn't need his money. I didn't need his exterminator. I didn't need him at all.
I could do this myself. For a few dollars. Tonight.
I ordered PestLab at 12:47 AM. While Zoe slept. While mice ran my kitchen. While the landlord slept comfortably in whatever house my $1,900 a month pays for.
Why Plant-Based Pouches Work in an Apartment When Traps, Exterminators, and Your Landlord's Empty Promises Don't
Here's what nobody not the landlord, not the exterminator, not the internet told me until that Reddit comment:
In an apartment building, mice don't live in YOUR apartment. They live in the walls. In the spaces between floors. In the pipe chases. In the building's infrastructure. The colony isn't in your kitchen. It's in the building. Your kitchen is just a stop on their nightly route.
Traps catch the scouts that enter your unit. The colony dozens of mice living inside the building's structure sends more the next night. You catch two. They send two more. Every night. Forever. Traps in an apartment building are like putting a bucket under a broken pipe. You're managing the drip. You're not fixing the pipe.
The only way to protect YOUR apartment without rebuilding the entire building — is to make your unit somewhere the scouts refuse to enter. Not catch them after they arrive. Prevent them from coming in.
PestLab Rodent Repellent Pouches create a scent barrier that does exactly this.
Four concentrated plant oils peppermint, cinnamon, cedarwood, and castor oil — blended at industrial strength. Mice smell 10 to 14 times better than humans. At this concentration, the four oils together overwhelm their entire olfactory system:
Peppermint floods their scent receptors. Can't navigate. Can't find food. Can't function.
Cinnamon triggers a threat response. Brain says: danger. Leave.
Cedarwood destroys scent-trail navigation. Can't follow the path into your apartment. Lost.
Castor oil slow-release matrix. 30 to 90 days of continuous emission. The barrier never drops.
The mice hit the scent boundary at your apartment's entry points the gap under the kitchen sink, the pipe chase behind the stove, the crack along the baseboard and their nose says: this space is hostile. Skip it. Move on.
They're still in the building. You can't fix that. Only the landlord can fix that and he won't. But they're not in YOUR apartment anymore. Because your apartment smells like a five-alarm fire to a mouse and a holiday candle to everyone else.
And here's the part that mattered most to me:
No traps on the floor where Zoe crawls. No poison bait anywhere near her. No dead mice behind the stove. No snap traps my cat can trigger. No chemicals on any surface. 100% plant-based. Non-toxic. Safe for toddlers. Safe for pets. Safe for everything.
No electricity needed. No landlord permission required. No holes to drill. No installation. Just drop a pouch under the sink. One behind the stove. One in the closet near the baseboard. One next to Zoe's crib.
Three minutes. My apartment. My rules. No landlord involved.
I Placed 4 Pouches in My Apartment on a Wednesday Night After Zoe Fell Asleep. Here's Exactly What Happened.
The pouches arrived Tuesday. I placed them Wednesday at 9 PM after Zoe's bedtime.
One under the kitchen sink the main entry point where the pipe chase opens into my unit.
One behind the stove where the wall gap is.
One in the bathroom behind the toilet, near the baseboard crack.
One next to Zoe's crib near the baseboard where I'd found droppings four times.
The apartment immediately smelled different. Warm. Peppermint and cinnamon and cedar. Not chemical. Not harsh. Like I'd lit three expensive candles at the same time.
Zoe's babysitter came Thursday morning and said: "It smells SO good in here. What's the candle?"
No candle. Pest control. But she didn't need to know that.
Then I waited. And for the first time in fourteen months I watched with hope instead of dread.
Thursday morning I opened the silverware drawer. The drawer I'd been finding droppings in every morning for over a year. Braced myself. Looked inside.
One dropping. Just one. In the back corner. Not the usual six or seven scattered across the tray. One.
I cleaned it. Made breakfast. Tried not to think about it too hard.
Friday morning — Opened the drawer. Held my breath.
Nothing.
I checked the cabinet under the sink. Nothing. Checked behind the stove with a flashlight. Nothing. Checked the bathroom baseboard. Nothing. Checked behind Zoe's crib. Nothing.
For the first time in fourteen months zero droppings anywhere in my apartment.
I didn't trust it. Not yet. One day doesn't mean anything.
Saturday Nothing.
Sunday Nothing.
Monday Nothing.
One full week I checked every surface. Every morning. Flashlight in every corner. Under every piece of furniture. Behind every appliance. Along every baseboard.
Zero. Not a single dropping. Not a single sign of activity. In a building that's been infested for years.
Day 10 I did something I'd been afraid to do for fourteen months.
I set Zoe's plate directly on the high chair tray. Without wiping it first. Without bleaching it. Without inspecting it with a flashlight.
I just set it down. Like a normal mother. In a normal apartment. With a clean tray that hadn't been walked across by a mouse the night before.
Zoe ate her scrambled eggs. She didn't know why Mommy was standing at the counter with her hand over her mouth. She didn't know what had been on that tray every morning for a year. She didn't know that for fourteen months, her mother had been scrubbing contamination off her eating surface before sunrise while she slept.
She just ate her eggs. And smiled. And said "more, Mommy."
And I turned around and cried into the dish towel so she wouldn't see.
That was eleven months ago. I have not found a single dropping anywhere in my apartment since day three.
11 Months. Zero Mice. Same Building. Same Neighbors With the Same Infestation. Same Landlord Who Doesn't Care. But MY Apartment Is Clean. Because I Fixed It Without Him.
The building still has mice. I know because my neighbor across the hall mentions it. The woman upstairs complains about scratching. The guy in 4B posts in the building group chat about droppings in his kitchen.
The mice are still in the walls. Still in the building. Still breeding in the pipe chases and the spaces between floors.
But they don't come into my apartment anymore. Because my apartment every entry point, every gap, every crack is surrounded by a scent they physically cannot tolerate. They hit the boundary and they turn around. They go to 3C instead. Or 4B. Or anywhere else that doesn't smell like concentrated peppermint and cinnamon to a nose 14 times more powerful than mine.
I replace the pouches every 60 to 75 days. Takes me three minutes while Zoe watches cartoons. Total cost per cycle: less than I used to spend on bleach in one week.
My apartment smells like a candle shop. Visitors compliment it. The babysitter still asks what brand I use. My mother came for Thanksgiving and said: "Your apartment smells better than a spa."
My apartment smells like a spa and it's pest control. That's the kind of irony I've learned to love.
I haven't called the landlord in eleven months. Not once. He doesn't know the mice are gone from my unit. He doesn't deserve to know. He had nine phone calls, twenty-three texts, and eleven emails to do his job. He chose not to. So I did it without him.
Then I Told My Neighbor. Then She Told Hers. Now 6 Apartments in My Building Are Mouse-Free — and the Landlord Had Nothing to Do With Any of It.
My neighbor Priya across the hall was complaining about mice one evening while our kids played in the hallway. Same story. Droppings in the kitchen.
Landlord ignores her. Exterminator came once. Mice came back.
I gave her two pouches. Said: "Under the sink and behind the stove. Trust me."
She texted me nine days later: "Danielle. ZERO. Not a single dropping. In NINE DAYS. After EIGHT MONTHS. What is in these things?!"
She told the woman in 2A. Who told the couple in 3D. Who told the single dad in 1C.
Six apartments now. All using PestLab pouches. All mouse-free. All in the same building where the landlord sends one exterminator once a year and calls it "pest management."
The mice are still in the building. They'll always be in the building until the landlord seals the infrastructure which he won't. But the mice aren't in OUR apartments. Because our apartments are the six units in the building that smell like a place no mouse wants to enter.
We didn't need the landlord. We didn't need his permission. We didn't need his budget. We didn't need his exterminator or his snap traps or his "I've fulfilled my obligation."
We needed four pouches and three minutes.
Why PestLab Pouches Are Built for Apartment Renters Who've Been Failed by Their Landlord
- 🏠 NO LANDLORD PERMISSION NEEDED — No holes to drill. No devices to install. No modifications to the unit. Just pouches placed behind things. Under things. Inside cabinets. Your landlord doesn't need to know. Your landlord doesn't need to help. Your landlord doesn't need to care.
- 🌿 100% PLANT-BASED — SAFE FOR TODDLERS AND PETS — Peppermint, cinnamon, cedarwood, castor oil. Zero poison. Zero chemicals. Zero rodenticides. Safe on floors where babies crawl. Safe around cats and dogs. Nothing toxic anywhere in your home.
- 👶 NO TRAPS ON THE FLOOR WHERE YOUR CHILD CRAWLS — No snap traps tiny fingers can find. No poison bait stations a toddler can pry open. No glue boards with live mice screaming at 6 AM. Just a pouch behind the stove that smells like Christmas.
- ⏱️ 30 TO 90 DAYS PER POUCH — Continuous slow-release. Not 6 hours like peppermint cotton balls. The barrier stays up at midnight, at 2 AM, at 5 AM — every hour the mice used to run your kitchen.
- 👃 SMELLS LIKE A CANDLE — NOT A PEST PROBLEM — Visitors compliment the scent. The babysitter asks what brand. Your apartment smells like a holiday bakery. Nobody knows it's pest control. Everybody thinks you have taste.
- 🔌 NO ELECTRICITY NEEDED — No outlet required. No batteries. No devices plugged into walls. Just pouches. Anywhere. Under the sink. Behind the crib. In the closet. Done.
- 🐿️ WORKS ON MICE, RATS, SQUIRRELS & CHIPMUNKS — Every rodent your building has. Every entry point into your unit. Covered.
- 🎯 90-DAY MONEY-BACK GUARANTEE — If mice don't leave your apartment — full refund. Your landlord's exterminator came twice in fourteen months and guaranteed nothing. PestLab guarantees your money back.
With more than 140,000+ 5-star reviews
TrustScore 4.8 144,354 reviews
Maria G. — Verified Purchase
★★★★★
$2,200/Month Rent. Mice in the Kitchen. Landlord Said "It's Normal." Pouches Fixed What He Wouldn't.
I pay $2,200 a month for an apartment with mice in the kitchen. The landlord told me every building in the city has mice and I should "learn to coexist." I have a two-year-old. Coexisting with droppings on my child's highchair is not an option. I placed three PestLab pouches kitchen, bathroom, bedroom closet. Day seven zero droppings. First time in nine months. My apartment smells like a candle store. The mice went to someone else's unit. I don't feel guilty about that. I feel protected. And I did it without a single call to the man who collects $2,200 a month and can't be bothered to care.
152 people found this helpful
Tyrone W. — Verified Purchase
★★★★★
Single Dad. Two Kids. 500 Sq Ft Apartment. Couldn't Put Traps Anywhere Safe. Pouches Were the Only Answer.
Five hundred square feet with two kids under five. There is no "safe place" for a snap trap in this apartment. Every inch of floor is within reach of a curious toddler. Poison? Out of the question. The exterminator the building sends is useless — same traps, same spots, mice come back every time. I put PestLab pouches under the sink, behind the fridge, and behind the bathroom vanity. Eight days. Zero mice. My kids play on the floor. The apartment smells good. I don't think about droppings anymore. A few dollars fixed what the building management couldn't in three years.
141 people found this helpful
Rachel S. — Verified Purchase
★★★★★
I Was Ashamed to Have People Over. Eleven Months of Pouches Later I Hosted Thanksgiving for the First Time.
I stopped inviting people to my apartment because of the mice. I was embarrassed. What if they saw a dropping? What if they heard scratching? What if they thought I was dirty? I hadn't had a guest in over a year. PestLab pouches changed that. Zero mice since the first week. My apartment smells incredible. I hosted Thanksgiving this year. Eight people. My mom, my sister, my best friend. Nobody mentioned mice. Nobody smelled anything except the pouches which they thought were expensive candles. I cried after everyone left. Not because they were gone. Because they'd been there at all.
137 people found this helpful
The Math Every Renter Needs to See
Your rent: $1,500 to $2,500 per month. For a unit the landlord won't maintain.
Private exterminator (if you pay yourself): $300 to $400 per visit. Traps on the floor. Mice come back. Every time.
Breaking your lease: $3,000 to $6,000+ in penalties and lost deposits.
PestLab pouches: a few dollars per pouch. 3 to 4 for a full apartment. Replace every 60 to 90 days. Less than your morning coffee for three months of protection.
No landlord needed. No exterminator needed. No lease-breaking needed. Just pouches and three minutes.
🚨 Fall Is Coming. Mice Push Indoors When It Gets Cold. Apartment Buildings Get Hit Hardest. Order NOW.
September through December every year temperatures drop and mice flood into buildings. Apartment buildings are the worst because the infrastructure is shared. One colony in the walls services every unit in the building.
PestLab pouches sell out every fall. Urban renters are buying in bulk. Word of mouth through Reddit, building group chats, and mom groups is spreading faster than the landlords can ignore.
If this page is live, they have stock. Don't wait until you find droppings on your child's high chair at 6 AM.
Only Available at pestlab.co
Not at stores. Not on Amazon the peppermint pouches on Amazon are diluted single-oil products that evaporate in days. They don't contain PestLab's four-oil industrial-strength slow-release formula. They don't work.
Real PestLab Rodent Repellent Pouches: pestlab.co.
90-Day Guarantee. If Mice Don't Leave Every Dollar Back.
Place the pouches. Wait 90 days. If mice aren't gone full refund. No questions.
Email support@pestlab.co anytime.
Your landlord charged you $1,900 this month and guaranteed nothing.
PestLab charges a few dollars and guarantees your money back.
I Called My Landlord 9 Times. Texted 23 Times. Emailed 11 Times. He Called Me Hysterical. I Fixed It Myself With 4 Pouches and 3 Minutes. My Daughter Eats Off a Clean High Chair Now. And He Had Nothing to Do With It.
You can keep calling a landlord who doesn't answer. Keep texting a property manager who doesn't care. Keep waiting for an exterminator who sets traps on a floor where your baby crawls. Keep bleaching surfaces at 5 AM that mice contaminate by midnight. Keep living in a building that charges you $1,900 a month and can't keep droppings off your child's high chair.
Or you can do what I did.
Stop waiting for someone else to fix it. Buy four pouches. Place them behind the stove. Under the sink. In the bathroom. Near the crib. Three minutes. No landlord permission. No lease modification. No exterminator appointment. No argument. No begging.
Just plant-based pouches that smell like a candle and create a scent barrier that mice physically cannot cross. 30 to 90 days per pouch. Replace every couple of months. Your apartment becomes the one unit in the building the mice skip.
Safe for your baby. Safe for your pet. Safe for your food. Safe for your sanity.
Six apartments in my building now. All using pouches. All mouse-free. All done without the landlord lifting a finger.
Zoe is four now. She eats scrambled eggs on a clean high chair. She plays on a clean floor. She sleeps next to a baseboard that hasn't had a dropping near it in eleven months.
She doesn't know any of this happened. She doesn't know her mother spent fourteen months scrubbing droppings at 5 AM and crying at midnight and calling a man who called her hysterical. She'll never know.
Because I fixed it. By myself. For a few dollars. Without anyone's permission.
And that for a single mother in a $1,900 apartment who'd been told she was overreacting for fourteen months felt like the most powerful thing I've ever done.
Tap the button. Order tonight. Place them tomorrow morning before your kids wake up.
And if the mice don't leave every dollar back. But they'll leave. They left mine. They'll leave yours. And you won't need your landlord's permission for any of it.
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