The One Where I Showed the Apartment with the Uninvited Roommate

You know that feeling when you’re about to show an apartment, and you just know something’s going to go wrong? That sense of foreboding that hovers over you like a bad omen? Well, that’s how I felt when I arrived for a showing at 123 Maple Street. I had a new prospective tenant, Tom, who was already waiting outside when I got there, a little impatient and eager to see the place.

I unlocked the door, and as I stepped in to lead him through the unit, something felt… off. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. The apartment looked fine. The hardwood floors were polished, the countertops shiny. Nothing out of place.

Then, we stepped into the living room.

There, in the middle of the floor, was a large, suspiciously wet spot. Like someone had spilled an entire gallon of water, but it was too sticky to be water. I froze, trying to gauge the smell in the air. Was that… sour?

I turned to Tom, who was now sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

“Uh, sorry about that,” I said, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal. “We’ll have the cleaners take a look at that. Just a little spill.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s not just a spill, is it? What happened?”

I honestly had no idea. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just—uh—some kind of stain. We’ll clean it, I assure you.”

Just then, the apartment’s most unexpected resident decided to make an entrance.

From behind the couch, out of nowhere, a giant rat—and I mean giant—appeared. It scuttled across the floor, squealing like it had just discovered a secret escape route.

Tom screamed. I screamed. The rat didn’t scream. It just looked at us with its beady eyes, as if to say, “Yeah, this is my place. You’re just visiting.”

Before I could react, the rat did what any self-respecting creature would do: it ran straight for the wet spot on the floor. It dipped its tiny paws into the sticky mess, and then, as if it were participating in some bizarre performance art, started grooming itself—right there in front of us.

Tom looked horrified, but I could barely keep it together. “Uh… well, that’s… not usually part of the tour. I can assure you that this won’t be happening when you move in.”

“I—” Tom stammered, “I thought I signed up for a new place, not… that.”

“Right, yeah, we’ll call pest control immediately,” I said, trying not to laugh nervously. But honestly, who could blame me? This was wild. “And I’ll make sure it’s all cleaned up before anyone moves in.”

But the rat wasn’t done with us. Oh no. It then decided to make itself even more at home. It hopped onto the couch. It crawled across the cushions like it was auditioning for Animal Planet. And just when I thought we were done with the drama, it scratched its back on the armrest and let out a content little squeak.

Tom, who had been backing away slowly, turned to me with a horrified look. “Is that rat… living here?”

“Definitely not,” I said, my professionalism hanging on by a thread. “No one is supposed to be living here but the human tenants. This is… well, this is definitely an unusual situation.”

I gave Tom a polite but awkward smile. “How about we finish the tour and head straight for the kitchen?”

We walked past the living room, trying to act casual. But I couldn’t help glancing back at the rat, now curled up on the couch like it was waiting for its Netflix queue to load.

Once we reached the kitchen, Tom’s nerves seemed a little more settled. “Okay, I get it,” he said, looking over the countertops. “Nice place. But about that rat… is that really something that can be fixed?”

I cleared my throat, still holding in my laugh. “Of course. Pest control will have that sorted out within a few hours. This is a one-time thing, I assure you. It won’t be a problem.”

I wanted to add, “unless you’re okay with the rat as a roommate,” but I kept it professional.

Moral of the story? Sometimes, you think you’re showing a regular, run-of-the-mill apartment, and then you discover that your apartment has a resident rat who’s just too comfortable. In the end, I got the rat removed, cleaned up the mess, and scheduled a new showing—but every time I drive past that building, I wonder if that rat’s still in there, lounging on the couch with its tiny feet up, living the good life.

And to Tom—well, he didn’t take the unit. I can’t say I blame him. A roommate like that? That’s a hard pass.