Mice! OMG. I once sold a house because I couldn't get rid of the mice. Storybook mice, OK. Real life mice, eww!

This proves my theory about mice as gourmands. A similar thing happened to us last winter in the Adirondacks. A huge quantity of best quality Japanese rice stored on a high shelf was carried across the room, down the hall, into the bathroom, and up to the shelf where we keep towels. (We store our boots upside down, so they had to go with plan B.)

Forgot to say -- will be on the lookout for the mouse book!

Oh, how wonderful! We (and our cat) have a love/hate relationship with mice in this house.
My partner, Rob, once stayed at an Appalachian trail shelter whose log book warned of exceptionally industrious mice. He and other hikers properly hung up their packs and tied everything up as tight as possible, then stayed awake all night listening to the scampering of little feet. In the morning, it turned out that one or more mice had chewed into two packs, shredded Rob's flannel shirt into a nest, and painstakingly moved every one of another guy's peanuts across the shelter and into Rob's pack. You have to admire the energy involved.

We had a mouse in the house two summers ago and about a week later my son took me to see the movie Ratatouille. I just couldn't get into it. Even though it was about rats, it hit a little too close to home.

Something of the ilk, but slightly different and more ominous (from my point of view).
I love watching little mice, but sometimes it gets a bit too much (and I sleep on a futon and my imagination runs away from me) and then, very regretfully, I put down poison. The last time I did this, a few weeks later I was putting on my gardening boots when I realised that the mice had put the poison in my boots. I perfectly comprehend that what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, but, still - eeek!