My wife is a helluva good mouser: to see is to react, swiftly, savagely, and without remorse. Mouse on the pantry shelves? Bam, crunch, squished by a can of beans. Scampering across the Vanagon floor? Stamp! Of course, that's usually followed with the plaintive call, "Off, there's a dead mouse under my foot." Eh, disposal is no big deal, damn sure beats rodents in inappropriate places.
You know, come to think of it, I've always been more of a cat guy than a dog obsessive, maybe this proclivity was part of the initial attraction.