I found watching the mice more entertaining than watching tropical fish. They weren’t tame...I refused to bond with them on a personal and individual basis. Besides, I couldn’t tell them apart. So I watched them; and, they watched me, and the babies were now pregnant.

I put two terrariums together and connected them with a bridge, never thinking that the mice might make a plunge to the floor. The bridges came to an abrupt end when my husband suddenly started finding escapees -- in the den, the dining room, the bedroom closet, the kitchen.

In the meantime, I had started scouring garage sales and swap meets for the enclosed plastic habitats with all the wonderful tubes and toys. They would turn up regularly, accompanied by tragic tales of escaped hamsters and the family cat. One family’s tragedy was my mice’s gain. They now had tunnels, towers, and a variety of wheels for their entertainment.

The male mice were on a testosterone high. They would party all night, arguing, fighting, drinking beer and smoking cigars, and driving the female mice crazy. I was up to about 50 mice and it was time to thin the pack.

We called various pet stores to see if we could strike a deal to barter dog food for mice. The one that had sold me the three mice originally offered me 50 cents credit per mouse. That sounded good to me. Of course, it didn’t come close to a break even financially. They were eating Kashi, fresh greens and grains from my garden, gourmet peanut butter flavored dog biscuits, and an occasional oatmeal cookie. Their diet is healthier than mine.