I know "Mices" isn't a real word, it's from a cartoon. I don't remember what cartoon that is from. But I can't agree more. I should have added musophobia to my list of phobias. I had a startling reminder of that last night. I keep an immaculate house, so the last thing I expected to see was a mouse running on the floor of my kitchen. We'd just finished eating dinner last night and I was carrying the dishes from the dining room to the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of movement across the floor. My brain does not even entertain the possibility that it could be a rodent. A rodent, in my house. My Gatsby comes tearing into the kitchen, chasing this blur. At this point, I see it, my synapses register- M-O-U-S-E. And it's not Mickey. A burst of swear words stream through my head (at least I think they stayed in my head) and I let out a blood-curdling scream. If the neighbors houses we close, I believe they would have notified the police at this point, as the sound coming forth from me is usually reserved for one being bludgeoned repeatedly by an extremely heavy object. I now make the decision that I must get off the floor immediately. I fear that this rodent will want to crawl up my pant leg. My first and nearest choice is my kitchen island. This island is not regular counter height. It's taller, made for bar stools. I'm not an overly tall person at 5'8" but I made the leap up landing on my feet on top of the island. B and Ian come rushing in, the dog is chasing the mouse and I'm letting out intermittent shrieks of terror. I am half fearful that the dog will eat the mouse. My son wants to catch the mouse and keep it as a pet. A pet? Can he not hear me yelling?? B somehow catches it and puts it outside. The thought of actually touching a mouse, even through a napkin makes me queasy. Now I'm fearful there are more...Somewhere....Maybe in the basement...Hiding out from the freezing cold.