I have tried my best to coexist peaceably, because I am by nature a gentle, amiable soul. I was happy to concede our entire garage to you, as long as you avoided crossing the borders into our house. But I have been pushed over the limit. “Peace in our time” was a pipe dream for Neville Chamberlain, and it’s not working for me, either.
I waffled for a season, telling myself that mice are really cute little warm and fuzzies (in their natural outside habitat). I used moderate control measures when a few of you took up residence among us. But the invasion and ensuing population explosion within our domicile have reached the intolerable point. Deportation has not worked. Neither has making a public example of some of your ring leaders been effectual. New masterminds continually rise to the top, and your family dynasty within our walls has been growing by alarming proportions.
My formal ultimatum is this: get out of my house by sundown or face all-out war.
I have done extensive research, and let me solemnly assure you that there is no pretty way for mice or any of their rodent relatives to meet their demise. The violent keep their kingdoms by force, and I am not above biological and chemical weapons. If I can find the WMDs that eluded George W. I will use them, too!