Oh yeah, Mouse Nation. It is ON! I do not care how darned cute your little mammalian ears and silvery whiskers are. Your obsidian bead eyes and adorable little mouse hands do not excuse you from invading my house. It is a game to sneak into the middle of the room to stare at me when I am inert on the couch watching John Stewart at 1 am every morning. I shout at your lone scout and he vanishes back under the furniture at shadow speed, only to try again in a few moments.
Already this spring five of your family have met their deaths in the swift justice of the Victor traps. The Victor brand mouse trap is one of the greatest inventions of mankind, second only to the wheel and the Harley Davidson motorcycle. My grandmother fought her mouse battles using Victor traps. Peanut butter is the Mouse Nation's siren call, luring the little beasts to their death. I hear a trap snap in a distant room and I cheer. I am Braveheart slaying the English at Stirling Bridge - the Terminator taking out the T1000 - Luke Skywalker fighting Darth Vader (before we knew Vader was his father).
I take the traps with the limp bodies hanging in them out to the woods, and there I sling them out of the trap, unceremoniously disposing the carcass to be reclaimed by whatever creature wants a fresh snack. Yeah, that is how heartless I am, Mice.
I will win this battle but the Mouse Nation knows they own the war. My side owns the twin superweapons: Victor Traps and Peanut Butter. They even the odds.