If an apartment seems too good to be true, sometimes that’s because it is. When Mirra Kardonne and her boyfriend were looking for a two-bedroom in Astoria, Queens, to share with a friend a few years ago, most of what they saw was grim. Then their broker took them to a true two-bedroom on the top floor of a house for $2,150 a month.

“It had a front yard with a persimmon tree,” Ms. Kardonne said. “We go upstairs, and it’s enormous: There’s a huge foyer, and the dappled light from the persimmon tree is coming in through the window onto the hardwood floors.”

It quickly became evident, however, that something was living in the ceiling — a squirrel, Ms. Kardonne figured, as they were right next to Astoria Park. And although the landlord refused to investigate, they renewed their lease for a second year, over some objections from the roommate, who claimed the scrabbling and loud thumps kept her awake at night.

A month later, after a week of torrential rain, Ms. Kardonne woke up one night to discover leaking water being sprayed around the room by her ceiling fan. A few nights later, it was her roommate’s screams that awakened her: Two raccoons had crashed through the rain-rotted bedroom ceiling.

The raccoons “were so scared they totaled her room,” Ms. Kardonne said. She called the landlord, who called the police. They caught the raccoons and advised the roommates to either get the roof repaired or move. When the landlord sent over a painter rather than a contractor to fix the damage, the choice seemed obvious.

Ms. Kardonne, who moved to New York from Toronto, which she called “the raccoon capital of the planet,” said she was “haunted by this feeling of ‘they’ve found me in America.’”

If there are few things as exhilarating as finding a dream apartment — the social cachet; the sense of being favored by the gods; the conviction that this good fortune will surely spill over into other areas of life — there is little that compares to the devastation of losing one.