If I ever write a sequel to The Dog Ate My Planner, I’ve already got the title. I’m not especially sensitive to heat, but when I set the thermostat to 75 on one of those few sweltering days, and for two days, it registered 86, I figured something was wrong.
Enter the A/C wizard, who announced after a good deal of sleuthing, “Your A/C isn’t working.” A bit later, he pranced back in – proud as a cat with a mouse in her mouth – and presented me with several burned out bits of wire.
“Looks like the mice got in your outside unit, ma’am, chewed up the wires and blew out your compressor.” To his credit, he wore his best “don’t shoot the messenger” look. When he quoted the replacement cost, I understood why.
I would like to pass along some learning here – maybe a way to prevent a similar demise. But I’m told that a determined mouse can slip into a hole no bigger than a dime – and in the dead of winter, will.
And that, dear friends, is how the mouse ate my air conditioner.
