What began as another non-descript evening was interrupted at about 6:45 p.m. when a knock on the door startled me from my quiet reading of Shakespeare. And by reading Shakespeare, I mean shooting people in a video game environment.

Leaping to my feet, I whipped open the door and was pleasantly surprised to see four friends I had not seen in quite a while. They were headed to Bassett, as one had a doctor's appointment, and decided to stop in and see what the hermit was up to.

Now, I'm not exactly the cleanliest person to begin with, but living alone has meant an expanded filing system that consists of any flat surface. So when my friends walked in, I was slightly embarrassed by the disaster area that lay before them.

But only slightly. I had just done dishes a day before, so the stink level of my place was only at elevated.

(Like the terrorism measure, it's not going down anytime soon).

They hung out for as long as they could stomach it, or possibly until it was close to the appointment time, and then departed, promising to stop back in on their way out. I made a modest effort to tidy up then, shuffling the piles of rubble into tidier, condensed piles of rubble.

I sat down in my throne to await their return, and happened to glance back into my kitchen at the scented candle I had just lit. At the periphery of my vision scurried a little gray beastie.

Insert several expletives here.

As the rodent disappeared into a kitchen vent, so did my sense of security. The sanctity of my fortress had been desecrated and I was absolutely disgusted. Smoldering with rage, I put on some shoes and hoped for a chance to introduce Mr. Mouse to Mr. Footwear.

I spent the next hour glaring at the wall, listening to the occasional squeaks of the furry invader. I worried at first that he was alerting his friends to the paradise my apartment inevitably provided. Then I remembered there's barely enough food in here to feed me, let alone an army of mice.

When my friends returned, rather than have them admire the now spotless surroundings, I suggested we head out for a rousing game of miniature golf. It was a blast, despite my second-place finish and despite playing on a pretty lousy course.

Yet through the fun, my thoughts never strayed far from the fact that I was no longer living alone. Something had to be done.

The moment my friends dropped me off back at my place, we said our goodbyes and I hopped into my own set of wheels, a dead sexy station wagon. I zipped over to the P&C, my intent single-minded.

I was out for blood.

Mouse traps, I asked, where are they? I'd like to think I had a fierce look in my eyes as I asked this, but asking about mouse traps is akin to drinking from a straw; the appeal just isn't there.

With a grim smile, I noted aisle nine held mostly pet supplies, with a small section devoted to the art of killing pets of the unwelcome kind. I snagged two packages of mouse traps but stopped as I saw a large section of mouse poison.

Under different circumstances, there's a remote chance I would have considered the ethics of the situation, wondering whether poison was a just way of killing the mice, unwelcome or not. Generally, animals and I get alone fine, and wanton bloodshed is not exactly something I strive for in the real world. And poison, well, that's just playing dirty.

The ethics were not an issue that night. I didn't want to poison this beast, smugly secure in the knowledge that he and his ilk had met their untimely end. I wanted to hear the crack as the trap snapped the thing in two.

I would settle for nothing less than cold-blooded murder.

Feeling dangerous, I made my way back home. With four traps at my disposal, I immediately set to work. I armed one with just cheese, one with just peanut butter and two with a combination. After strategically placing them around apartment, I settled in for a little light reading.

SNAP!

Not 15 minutes later, a little rustle was followed by the jaws of death clamping down on Mr. Mouse. I turned on the lights, and as the fluorescent beams shone brightly, I saw his legs kick in one final spasm.

Victory was mine! Sensing my place at the top of the evolutionary ladder for the first time, the adrenaline flowed through me at an alarming rate. With a little gamma radiation, I would have gone Hulkster instantaneously.

I left his corpse there overnight as a warning to all who would dare trespass upon my grounds. Or possibly I was too grossed out to touch the thing. Either way, it was over.

As for the other traps, they're not going anywhere anytime soon. Hopefully they'll remain empty forever and the animal kingdom of my apartment will retain its population of one.

If not, well, let's just say I won't be sorry if I hear that SNAP a few more times.