What is it your greatest fear? Being beheaded by ISIS? Eternal damnation? Lupus? Butterflies maybe?

Our “phobias” are rarely valid; more often wildly irrational and unsupported by any tangible data. Thus, I must defend the honor of a much-maligned, much-benign creature, while proving our crazy phobias can greatly harm our loved ones.

I have more quirky idiosyncrasies than your average bear, but few groundless fears. I certainly wouldn’t want to be trapped in an elevator with Sean Hannity, (fear of snakes) and I’m mildly agoraphobic (fear of heights; incongruent for a career roofer).

I had heard my nephew Jay’s wife Cindy “Lou” had a “pet” phobia, but recently learned just how debilitating it really is. And what is this horror Cindy dreads like the plague? Butterflies?

No, but close: It’s the sweet, kind-hearted, tiny mouse. Her fear was exposed many years ago in their starter house next-door to Cindy’s mother Thelma.

Cindy spied a mouse in the laundry room and after jumping down from the dryer, fled to Mom’s, refusing to return until Jay could prove the impending doom had been eliminated. The traditional traps were set for a painful demise, when 6-year-old Trey came home from school and chirped, “Hey, what’s this? There’s cheese and … OW!!!”

Already Cindy’s wacky fear was having repercussions heard far and wide.

That story brought to mind another delightful children’s story involving intense pain. At a family dinner, I watched through an opening in the kitchen wall as my brother Paul at the stove spooned up some goulash. Suddenly, he launched skyward, screaming like a wounded badger.     

For some unknown reason, toddler Trey had sneaked up and bit right into Paul’s exposed rump. I opposed Trey’s mild punishment for such a toothless, priceless offense. Paul later quipped while rubbing his cheek, “Boy, Trey really chewed my butt!”

But I kid. Cindy’s mouse fear is real, while Paul’s ass is a joke. But let’s stop to examine our diminutive friend the mouse for a moment, shall we?

I believe mice — like pit bulls, flies and skunks — have gotten an unfair rap. That creepy-crawler Hitler often referenced Jews as “vermin” or “rodent” to foment hate against an innocent race. Are we guilty of the same sin?

Now, granted, the mouse’s testier cousin, the rat, may have spread a plague or two, but as far as I know, no mouse has ever hurt a fly. (The hantavirus thing was a hoax perpetrated by racist cats). I think mice are adorable.

When I was about 20 and direly lacking direction, I came home pickled in the wee hours and spotted a mouse in the inside porch watching me.

I asked him how he was doing, and soon we were in full-conversation. I can’t prove that mouse understood what I was saying, but we were in our own, private little world … until I heard my equally diminutive Mom’s frightened voice behind me squeaking, “Doug? Are you OK?” The magic moment gone, my new friend fled for cover.

He and his friends have no fiendish intentions, and here’s another example of how the fear of them can injure and maim. When Jay and Cindy moved into their current, stately house, Cindy soon spotted her first Cooper Lane mouse … and then another. Apparently they had their own home in the field across the street.

Cindy was mortified, even considering selling that dream home to move elsewhere. Boy, talk about making a mountain out of a mouse hole! No longer trusting Jay’s valiant but futile methods, she called Stroupe Pest Control, who set poison (heartless) traps outside, and a “sticky trap” in the kitchen — the theory being mice become hopelessly adhered, awaiting final execution.

That first night, Cindy and young Tessa heard a flopping commotion and assumed the first mouse had been captured. Imagine their shock when they found their sweet, little Shih tzu, “Missy Tay” helplessly embedded in the goo. They had to cut her out and give endless baths. No sooner had the dust cleared when they heard a “snap” and found their Maltese, Snowflake, with a noseful of trap.

Two days later, it was Tay’s turn again as she tried to get at the peanut butter in a trap. Jay and butt-biter Trey had to catch the panicked hound to free her whiskers from the dangling trap.

There are countless innocent victims of phobias gone wild. Hopefully this column will help Cindy gain some perspective into her unnatural fear. Cindy Lou: Those little mice that haunt you so aren’t so different than Snowflake and Missy Tay — they’ve just never had anyone take the time to really get to know them.

Michael Jackson had it right when he sang to a beloved rat friend: “Ben, most people would turn you away; I don’t listen to a word they say. They don’t see you like I do — I wish they would try to; I’m sure they’d think again, if they had a friend like Ben.”

Let’s open our minds and hearts, freeing us from crippling phobias. Love conquers all; cruel traps conquer only hope and small dogs.