Musophobic....or just a sissy?

So, there I was...standing in my kitchen, shaking like a leaf after screaming like a sixth grade girl. I had been liesurely watching tv with my dog when I decided a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel would be delightful. I reached under the cupboard to get my toaster out and set it out on the counter when a tiny, brown mouse jumped out and scampered across my kitchen counter and disappeared behind my fridge. It was so startling, even my dog got off the couch. I was paralyzed in fear...
A trap was set (the live kind where the mouse gets lured in and captured so you have to go free him or her somewhere else where the mouse will then ideally re-seek shelter in someone else's house). A week went by with no capture. I spent at least one night terrified that the mouse would come get in bed with me and the dog, crawl all over both of us and disease us both with its toxic feces. One night in particular, I could hear the little son of a bitch squeaking and running on my hardwood floors. Was there a whole family of them?! I paced around my room looking for a weapon. On one hand, I like to think of myself as a pretty humane person, not to mention terrified of the little creature, but on the other hand, I wanted the thing out of my house so badly that I was willing to to attempt to kill it with the only weapon I could find: a football. I continued to pace around with the football in my arms wondering what the likelihood of me being able to throw a Kurt Warner spiral at the bastard and kill it. Eventually, after making a few phone calls (one to my mom) and being convinced that the mouse would NOT get in bed with me, I fell asleep.
After week one went by and the fear grew with the thought of the mouse breeding in my sock drawer, I upped the ante. I bought cheddar cheese and old-school, thirty nine cent, snap-the-neck traps. I wouldn't even set the traps myself. I made Alice do the honors. Thank God for Alice. That night, almost as soon as I went to bed, I heard the snap. I was hopeful, yet sickened by the thought of a dirty, broken-necked mouse on my counter. When my alarm went off in the morning, it was the first thing I thought of. What would I do if the mouse is really there? I can't leave it all day to decompose behind the microwave, could I? I didn't. I think over the previous week I had become desensitized. I crept into the kitchen and saw the mini tail hanging out immediately. I had already made up my mind: the carcass needed to go NOW. I dug in my drawer for a spatula-type kitchen utensil I am pretty sure I have never used and wouldn't ever miss. I scooped him up like a pancake and flipped the trap and dead mouse into a brown paper bag and threw it all out in the garbage bin. Luckily, it was also garbage day and all elements of the capture would be gone by the time I came home from work.
In summary, I guess I am not as phobic as I thought. Definitely a wussy when it comes to the removal of dead animals or dirty creatures crawling around my house and defecating in my cupboard. And when I think about the toaster incident, I definitely remember sitting on my ass drinking coffee and laughing from the warmth of the kitchen while I witnessed the squirrel launch itself at my friend's face out of the bird feeder. Karma is a bitch....