I find it hard to believe that I actually am feeling a little bit guilty. Of the 38 mouse traps the exterminator -- Sandy's his name -- laid on Friday afternoon, one was tripped this morning. In the upstairs storage closet -- which I visit only twice a year when I hold my bi-annual seasonal clothes migration.

So the great mouse infestation at Ellen's house was not quite so bad as I feared last week. He pulled the one trap out of 38 and an adult field mouse was laying there dead, in a fetal position -- all for want of a little peanut butter. And now I'm starting to think -- how bad is it really if there's a mouse or two in the house.