We have a mouse in our kitchen, a young, friendly one. It keeps popping out every few hours or so, at least, causing Mommy to scream and stamp (or scream and run back out of the kitchen) and resulting in contractions. Mommy is 6 months pregnant. She does not need the drama of 7 mouse sightings in one day. She shared this need with her brave and capable husband, saying that she needs the mouse to be gone and to not have to see it or hear it squeaking half dead on a glue trap. (Her husband laughed and pointed out the irony of her "City Mouse" title to her blog, though he did go buy some traps and set them up in the kitchen.)
Her protective son, Micah, said, "Mommy! You need to stay out of that kitchen! You only go in there to clean up or to make breakfast or lunch or supper, but that's it!"
How lovely it would be if that didn't mean most of my day (sigh).