I lived in an apartment building that had a terrible infestation of mice. My roommates and I tried to eradicate the issue humanely, but the mice were getting too bold; they weren’t afraid of us, they literally jumped into bed with us, and they made nests in our closets. As a longtime vegetarian animal lover, I felt horribly conflicted about giving them poison or using glue traps. Bay roommate had a talk with me about why we deserved to live in our apartment pest-free. “This is our home,” she said. But I couldn’t shake the thought that the mice had probably been there longer than we had. It was their home too. This story is an urban Aesop’s fable, an exploration of the guilt we feel when we have to be hypocrites. How far would you have to be pushed before crossing the line?