My mother was terribly afraid of mice. Just mentioning the word "mouse" freaked her out. She might have made a good Victorian lady.
We used to have a problem with mice in our house. Once I managed to catch one in my glasses case and release him outdoors. (What was I going to do, kill him?) I was surprised how little it was.
In one of James Thurber's stories, he wrote about an eccentric relative who'd leave food next to the mouseholes! (Mother liked Thurber.)
I once saw a cartoon of a cat singing:
Love to eat them mousies!
Mousies what I love to eat!
Bite their little heads off,
Nibble on their tiny feet!
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