This is what my 12 year old daughter, the animal lover, sees when she hears "mouse":
This is what I see:
I must take a breather now because I had to look for pictures of mice...
With how I just started this post, I'm guessing you're not going to be surprised with where this is about to go.
About 5:00 this morning, I wake up to chaos on the floor by my bed. I then hear a squeak & see 2 cats running after a black object. Oh, crap, there's a mouse in the house! It ran under the dryer, which I can see from my bed. The 2 cats stop & look at each other. Watson G, the fatty of the cats, said to Sophie, "Darn my big appetite! I won't fit under there."
Sophie yawned. She's not really into hunting anything, she just didn't want Watson to have the cool thing he was chasing. Total sibling rivalry there.
Apparently they telepathically called Nemo, the known mighty hunter in the house, because she came sauntering over from another room. Her eyes were sleepy & she was not happy to be woken up. She tried to fit between the washer & dryer but her giant football head didn't let her, so she sat in front of the dryer & stared. For 30 minutes.
The mouse must have fallen asleep. Slowly, one by one, each cat walked away to go back to sleep, with Nemo the last to leave.
While all this is going on, all I can think about is, "I have to pee. And I have to walk through the laundry room to get to the bathroom." I just knew that darn mouse would choose the second I was walking past to jump out at me, climb my leg, & eat my face. I just knew it.
I knew what would happen. The mouse would jump out all ninja-like, yelling, "hooyah!!" with his little nasty legs in a kung fu move, knocking me down to the floor, so he could easily run up my body & devour my face.
I like my face. I don't want anyone to eat it.
So I held it. For 5 hours. That's how long it took for me to be able to get my muscles to move. I wanted to be all brave & all, "Yeah, nasty mouse, I've got my big girl panties on. I can walk past you." But it didn't happen. Visions of Mr. Mouse calling his friends over for dinner while he pulls out a tiny little fork & knife, while prancing around & around on my face, while I laid on my back paralyzed & watching & waiting for him to cut a piece out of my face.
It was a very traumatic 5 hours. Hubby was informed, as soon as he woke up, to go get the mouse so I could pee. He said he didn't see it. Did I ask him to just look at it? No. I said to kill it. That means lifting up the dryer while shooting the damn thing with one of the sons' airsoft guns. How hard can that be? You have 2 arms, one for the dryer, one for the gun. Duh. Buck up & protect me from the mouse.
Now I can't do laundry. The damn mouse is going to crawl into the dryer, which will end one of two ways:
1) Mr. Scary Mouse will jump out at me as soon as I open the dryer to put a load in. Then he will eat my face.
2) Mr. Scary Mouse will not jump out at me & decide to stay in the dryer for a little spin in the sauna. Then he will get baked & all my clothes will smell like fried mouse. Then he will come back to life, because mice have evil magic. Then he will eat my face.
I am not going to have my face eaten by a mouse. Whether he's alive or a zombie.
You will not have my face, zombie mouse.