Rat's nest

Literally. I stepped into the Airstream yesterday to take a mini-step on the GIANT-SIZED CLEAN UP that I have barely commenced in there. It was nearly dusk, and the camper is still unplugged, so I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the musty environment. It took me a few minutes to realize that the LARGE MASS of stuff spilling out of the closet wasn't just some normal mess, like a shirt or a mouse nest. This one had turds the size of my pinky fingernail, and when I reached in to the closet to extract the mass, I discovered it was like a seemingly endless cavern. God help us all. Rat's nest. This one proved to be a sizable gom of:
                     pink insulation
                     leaves
                     a teal colored scarf tube I knitted a few winters ago
                     a snake skin

Readers may or may not be aware of the following highly boring trivial fact about me: I hate cleaning. It is among my least favorite ways to spend time, particularly when the junk to clean is a) moldy and b) rodent infested. (I know, shocking.) My beloved Airstream, at present, meets both of these disgusting criteria. How could my sweet little winter home from just a year ago be so awfully dank and vile?

Do not worry. I will handle it. I removed the massive tumor which was the rat's nest and set a trap with peanut butter. I took my baby step in cleaning, which was removing a couple of bag loads of stuff from the closet to organize and tuck away in the currently rodent-free safety of my brand new house. Once I finish evacuating all of my belongings from the ole Lady, I will bleach, scrub and repaint her in preparation for next spring's possibilities, which may or may not include a variety of most interesting guests.