my son says, "think of him as Stuart Little" (lyn)

There's a mouse in my bedroom.  


It's 11:30pm. I want to go to bed but am afraid to.  My son saw a mouse on the kitchen counter. As we were frantically laying down glue traps, it scooted across the hall floor and into my bedroom.  I can be rational and think: mice are clean;  they won't hurt you; some people even have them as pets.  But still.  Seeing the little furry thing whiz by is horrifying.  Alexander, who doesn't like cats, suggests tonight that maybe we should get one.  "Either that or an owl," (he knows I hate snakes).  


This doesn't relate to food, except to say that the peanut-buttered- snap traps I set out a week ago, when I first spotted a mouse in my bedroom (could it be the same one?), are still there.