There�s a mouse in my house. And this is its eviction notice.

The rodent in question is living in the basement�nice and cozy in the space above the hanging ceiling in our computer room. Well, I�m not sure how cozy it is nestled in the prickly pink fiberglass insulation, but I�m sure it�s warm. I�ve been keeping the electric heat downstairs higher than usual lately to combat the recent cold snap. All that rising hot air has undoubtedly made the space quite livable for our little refugee from the winter weather.

It�s been a few years since we had to deal with a mouse. We had a couple of traps on hand, but they were of the standard bait-and-snap variety. My husband was leaving town for a few days and I didn�t want to deal with a deceased rodent. Off I went to the store to check out the alternatives. I returned with a $3.50 trap that said, basically, "Mice go in, but they can�t come out." It features a spring-loaded ramp that snaps back to its upward position after when the mouse is done walking through.

Fool-proof, right?

Wrong. This trap may work on some mice�on those stupid, in-bred laboratory mice, perhaps�but this is a street-smart suburban mouse. The first night he ignored the trap as it sat on the floor. The next night I put it up in the ceiling area. He took the bait. And managed to get out again. He must be agile enough to turn around in a tight space yet heavy enough to pull down the ramp from the top.

Of course, he was fortified with a Ritz cracker topped with a generous amount of peanut butter. I�m wondering what I should serve next. Will he be lured in again by the Ritz and peanut butter, or should I try some cheese?

This is starting to sound like a sequel to the children�s book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

My first job out of college was working for the New Hampshire Fish and Game Department. That winter a mouse created a comfortable nest in my boss� desk. The wildlife educator insisted on live-trapping it. This consisted of her enticing the critter into the open and placing it into a coffee can, then releasing it into the hilly field nearby. It never returned to our office, but I always had an image of it curled up happily in some unused desk in another part of the building.

I don�t have a problem with mice and other critters in their own turf. I don�t "eek" out when I see mice in the pet store. I do take offense to seeing their evidence in my home.

In Connecticut we once had a family of raccoons living in our chimney. The nuisance wildlife professional smoked out the mother and got the babies out through the fireplace. They looked cute, sitting in the cage in our living room, but then their fleas jumped ship. Lesson learned? Wildlife belong in the wild, not in my living room.

You�d think my cat could be of use in this pursuit but she�s not much of a mouser. Maybe it�s her lack of front claws. Or maybe she�s just seen so many fake mice that she doesn�t know what to do with a real one. I can picture this mouse sticking out his tongue at her and pausing to groom his whiskers. No wonder she�s been agitated lately. At first I didn�t understand her weird nocturnal meowing; I didn�t see any evidence of a mouse in our kitchen, which is usually ground zero for them.

Her food bowl has been emptying at a faster pace then normal. I wonder if mice eat cat food?

The day after we confirmed our rodential resident, my daughter�s McDonald�s Happy Meal came with, of all things, a Minnie Mouse toy. Minnie�who comes with a tag proclaiming "The House of Mouse"�is happy and perky and has a portable phone affixed in her hand.

Putting in a call to our guest, perhaps?

At the Fish and Game Department they discouraged anthropomorphism�the giving of human characteristics to animals. It�s too late. I�ve already decided that this illegal immigrant to our abode is out to bother me.

Now it�s personal.

I�ll get him. And when I do, we�re going for a ride. About a mile away should do the trick. Then out he goes. Into a snow bank. With no Ritz crackers or peanut butter.