To the Mouse in our House

Dear Mouse in our house:

Get out. Once upon a time, we welcomed your kind into our home because I thought you were cute. But I quickly learned that field mice don't make good pets. You are skittish, squeaky and you jump really high. Listen. You don't belong in our cabinets, behind our refrigerator or in the drawer under the oven where I keep my cookie sheets.

You are a field mouse. You belong in a field. It's in your name. Claim it. Own it. Be it. Stop eating the dead ants behind our couch that I just discovered were there this afternoon. Imagine my horror upon finding that mass ant graveyard surrounded by your, um, droppings. So glad I finally decided to pull out the couch so I could vacuum under it. I feel dirty and like I might need to check into a hotel for awhile.

Please go. I'm asking nicely. Clearly, you are too smart to be fooled by our peanut butter traps. And obviously, my so called cat doesn't frighten you in the least. Probably has something to do with the fact that she can't keep her balance and frequently falls down while I'm petting her. Stop mocking kitty. I don't want to pull out the non organic, chemically laden poison I know they sell at WalMart. But I fear it may be coming to that.

In short,

I do not want you eating ants. I do not want you in my pants. I do not want you here or there. I do not want you anywhere. I do not want you little mouse.  So please exit our little house.