We've had lots of mice in my house over the years. My old dog, Caramel, used to catch them and she would walk around the house with them, their little tails dangling out of her mouth. Eventually she would take them outside, but we could say, "Caramel, go get the mouse," and she knew exactly what we were talking about. Even Kirby, my fat cat has been able to catch one or two, but he doesn't display that sort of excitement. Another time, I found that the rubber base of the wall of the family room had fallen over. Upon closer inspection, I found several dead baby mice stuck to it, covered in shit. They must've been running behind it and reached a part that was extra sticky and died. It was a horrifying scene.

I saw another mouse tonight.