No logical argument can change me from a person who fears mice into a person who can tolerate them.  In the city an errant shadow on the floor of my basement once had me racing upstairs, reaching for my car keys and cel phone.  The instantly hatched plan was to go sleep at a friend’s place/motel/youth hostel/homeless shclter/ doorway and immediately arrange for an eterminator.  My horror in the face of mice – in the city – is visceal.  This morning I saw a mouse flit across the floor of the second bedroom in the cabin where I am staying.  To my surprise, my only reaction was a startled squeak.  I was not revolted, terrified or panic stricken.  I know I really saw him and when I mentianned my little visitor to the daughter of my hostess she nodded and acknowledged that, “Yes, he was there before you came.”  Perhaps it is that idea that makes the prospect of him crying in a trap or, worse still, lying dead on the mat, more difficult to face than catching sight of him flitting to safety under a bed upon which I do not sleep.  However, he had better watch his step and not intrude too much or I might revert to my city hysteria.  It is a new and interesting experience not to be afraid of him and I think it has something to do with the closeness of other natural things.  Jays, wild turkeys, chipmunks, deer and this morning a mother loon and her many chicks are among the creatures that have delighted me here.  The country mouse seems to be just part of the gang.  But, as I said, logic has nothing to do with this.  I hope for both our sakes that I continue to feel this benign surprise toward my room-mate.