I am deathly afraid of mice. I can pinpoint the exact time this phobia implanted itself in my brain, and it involves mice invading my house a few years back like little fury aliens taking over a new planet. There were a LOT of them, and they crawled on me in my sleep. Nuf said.

I arrived home this morning, and as usual went to feed one of my cats her wet food. She is truly in lust with her wet food and follows me around meowing until I put it down. This morning was different. She wasn't interested in the food at all and instead seemed to be pursuing something behind my laundry basket.
Investigating further, I saw a shadow. A sense of dread creeped up on me. A small, tiny shadow. Movement. Oh god.
I ran away as she chased the mouse into the living room. It escaped down into the heating vent. I immediately called my brother and asked him to pick up traps on his way home from school. I have to say, I'm not all about killing things. I even let spiders live if I come across one in my house, but mice must die. As cute and as tiny as they are, they INVADE my space and CRAWL on me, ok?
So, I go about my business thinking the little beast made it to safety and would be smart enough to stay that way. Two minutes later, I look up to see my other cat trotting through the kitchen, a squirming little furball dangling from his mouth.
I'm ashamed to say, I screamed like a girl. More like a big, long screech. I may have closed my eyes and ran away, and I may have also screamed "Timber! No!". For some reason, I didn't want him to have that thing in his mouth, and let's face it... I was in shock that he even caught the thing. He's never hunted for anything in his life, and he is slightly um, robust, so I was amazed he was fast enough.
That's when my brother's girlfriend woke up. I was still hysterical and screamed at her that the cat had a mouse! Mass chaos broke out, as her and the cats chased the mouse around, trying to catch it with a bucket and a broom. I was tearing up and freaking out in whatever room they weren't in at the moment, on the phone with my brother telling him to come rescue us.
It didn't end well. The little bastard escaped again, last spotted in my bedroom. I slept like crap.
I'm a rational person. I'm not grossed out by much, and I'm not your typical girly-girl. I grew up in the country, riding horses, cleaning up manure, and encountering all kinds of critters. I can't even relate to the person I become when I come across a mouse. It's not ME, not at all. It's quite scary.
I can think about a mouse right now. This very moment. And I'm not afraid. I'm not a screechy, crying little girl. And I think to myself "Next time I'll be ok" But it never happens. Inevitably, I will freak the eff out. I've developed a fear for life.
Give me spiders, give me snakes. Give me anything but a mouse.
On the up side, it's really entertaining to watch my cats stalk the house, hunting. I pretend I'm watching The National Geographic channel.