There’s a mouse in the house. He’s cute. He’s small and fat and has the kind of face that would make a great Beatrix Potter character. All he needs is a jaunty little hat.
He’s not a new pet. He’s a field mouse, probably an adolescent, who came in under the door using that almost supernatural ability mice have to flatten themselves and squeeze through any space. You’d think he would’ve chosen a house with less cats. Any house in the neighborhood would probably fit that bill – since this house has seven.