
I don't mind a wee mouse once in a while, but this critter was clearly making himself at home, getting a bit brazen about lurking in the dark kitchen corner looking at us with an Are you going to eat that? expression. The other members of my household were freaked out and demanded house mouse eviction.

Also, I'm a big Beatrix Potter fan, and if you've ever read The Tale of the Two Bad Mice about Hunca Munca's frustrating and hilarious adventure about crashing a doll house and trying to eat the painted plaster ham, then you will never want to harm a mouse again.
So I got out our compassionate relocation contraption and inside placed peanut butter and goldfish crackers. No dice. In fact, our wee mousekin left wee droppings on top of the contraption, which I took as a I don't want no stinking crackers message. I added a Pepperidge Farm cookie and that did the trick. This morning--as pictured at left-- he looked back at me with his giant bulbous glistening nocturnal eyeballs. I'm pretty sure he was a he. I glimpsed mouse yarbles.

I took him to a local park with sheds, picnic tables [with crumbs] and a strip of woods, and released him, along with a care packag of seeds and cookies. I'm not naive-- I know it's an owl/hawk/snake-eat-mouse world out there. But he's in Nature's House now, and he's alive. I wish him all the best.