Lying awake the other night, listening to roughly three-dozen mice play freeze-tag underneath my bed, I half-heartedly tried to convince myself that there was nothing wrong with living in squalor. As long as you are living harmoniously in squalor.

We’re all familiar with the health benefits of pet ownership. You know, lowered blood pressure, a sunny disposition and a wardrobe and home covered in (but not made of) animal hair. Maybe, just maybe, we can enjoy the same benefits from our fun-loving, if wild, rodent friends.

I think it’s at least worth a try. 

Put down the peanut butter-filled trap, drop the poison and don’t even think about calling the exterminator.  (After all, isn’t your slumlord tired of hearing you whine by now?) You don’t have a pest problem, you have been blessed with several hundred soothing companions.

Next time that mouse runs across the floor of your room, over your toe, and behind your dresser, just know that he is lacking a good sense of direction. Surely he intended to jump on your lap and lick your face right after you came home from work — he just couldn’t quite find you.

And the next time Mr. Mouse jumps out of your trashcan with his mouth full of dirty tissues and tell-tale crumbs on his whiskers, just know that he was worried you weren’t going to fill up his food and water dishes. After all, you never do.

And next time you hear Fievel squeaking as you are drifting off to (mouse-free) sleep, just know that none of his innumerable “accidents” would have happened if you had walked him earlier, or at least let him in the backyard before you so selfishly retired for the night.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go get the door, the exterminator’s here. 

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