Mice. I hate them. This is not personal. I've got nothing against mice. I even used to find them cute, with their trembling whiskers and beady eyes. What I hate in mice is the fact that I'm now compelled to chase them, to play with them, to kill them and to eat them raw, guts, tail, feet, fur and all. If I can't do that, I won't last long, and I'm talking sheer survival, not peer pressure. Should I add that I have the same problem with small birds ? Everybody likes small birds, they are so defenceless, so delicate, chirping little beasts. Last time I was in contact with one of these defenceless and delicate beings, a few feathers stuck into my trachea and I almost choked. And the sadism... I was no sadist, or, if I was, society and breeding kept it well under control. How can I be supposed to torture my food before eating it ? How is it possible that squeals make me drool ? There are other things that I have trouble doing, like licking myself clean, or abhorring water. Some will say that other things compensate for the bad food and detestable hygiene practices. Sex, for instance, is OK, though too long and noisy in the building and too quick in the making. Purring is a real pleasure. Retractable claws are a great device for lacerating cushions and wallpaper (here goes all the sadism I'm able to muster). Having soft fur all over my body is a lifelong fantasy of mine. I appreciate that a lot, even if this means that the girls are