Mice are God’s punishment for every lustful, greedy, messed-up thing that humans have ever done. I hate their beady eyes, their dirty whiskers, their disease-ridden fur, their incessant squeaks, and their residency in my vent in Kirkland.

But I would happily—gladly—invite an entire family of Stuart Littles to build a home in the floorboards of my dorm room if it meant that I would never accidentally like another post from 2009 on my crush’s Facebook page ever again.