I am married to a territorial woman.

She loves God’s creatures as much as anyone I know — except when they invade our home.

Then she becomes ruthless. Stay out of my space, she says with extreme prejudice.

A mouse invaded our pantry a few days ago. It’s now gone. Is it dead as I write this? I do not know for a fact that it is. I’ll assume it will be in due course.

The little critter had feasted on some pasta in our pantry, scattering the noodles all over one of the shelves.

That did it, according to my wife. We pulled out some mouse traps, the kind with the sticky glue; mouse walks onto the glue to get at the bait and, oops!, it gets stuck.

What about our 13-year-old cat, Mittens? Well, there once was a time when she was a merciless mouse killer. She has lost interest in that endeavor as she has entered her golden years. I’ll give her a pass, as she’s earned her keep through previous pest control.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals won’t like what I’m going to say next, but that’s too bad. PETA can take it up with my wife … and good luck with that!

I put some peanut butter on the trap. Little Mickey found it during the night. It got stuck on the glue.

I grabbed the mouse and the trap, put it all in a plastic bag, tossed the bag into a larger trash bag, tied the bigger bag up and took it all out to the Dumpster in the alley behind our house.

Hey, I don’t like disposing of God’s little creatures, either.

It’s just that I dislike them eating my food even more.

Sorry, PETA. Deal with it. I’m just doing what I’m told.