I've never quite understood the psychology behind human fear of harmless creatures. Repulsion I get--many of the critters that invade our homes are disgusting. But freaking out at the sight of a spider seems irrational. A glass-shattering scream in response to a cockroach seems excessive. And hysterically crying because of a mouse, a dramatic display I recently witnessed, seems ridiculous. More on that later.
My battle against a quick, furry foe began when I glimpsed at one as it darted from behind the refrigerator, an incident that was followed by an easily startled period when every little movement--a rolling cheerio, a kicked pebble--is perceived as a mouse. The only way I could achieve peace of mind was to catch the rodent and all his friends.
I never knew how many different devices they have for catching the bastards: snap traps, glue traps, catapult traps, electrocution traps, firing squad traps, lethal injection traps. At first I felt bad about leading mice to such inhumane demise because they're kind of cute; I wished they had a trap that would teach them a valuable lesson and send them on their way. I’ve hardened, though, as mice have continued to litter kitchen surfaces with excrement. Now I want their species eradicated.
Open warfare is not an option, though. This is because my roommate's girlfriend, who required an hour of consolation after the aforementioned incident, is more terrified of mice than I am of talking to girls before eight beers. One day I came home to find a mouse feasting inside a bag of bread on the counter. She would probably break up with my roommate if she knew about this.
Since she's around fairly often, we usually discuss battle strategy via email and execute clandestine plans to keep her in blissful oblivion. Sometimes I think we should stop sheltering the lass, or help her overcome her muriphobia (which I now know is the term for fear of mice), but for now we’ve even developed a secret language for mice discussion. Morgle thimp wazzle…you know what to do, roomie.