Eviction Notice (and somebody bring me a Coke)

Dear small brown mouse. You are welcome to visit my garage anytime that I am not aware of your presence, but standing there squeaking at me when I try to go to the fridge for a Coke is not kosher. That, my little furry friend, crosses the line. Even though my daughter thinks you are (aaaaw, SO) cute, you are still not welcome. Somehow, every winter, word gets out that I am the sucker who won't set traps and you party like a rock star until Spring. I miss the days when we had a cat who could put your in your place. I hear you have invited yourself into other homes on my street and tried to take advantage of the less tolerant/more brave residents. How did that work out for ya? You had a good thing going here, dude. Our arrangement has worked fine until today when you had to get an attitude and impede my caffeine consumption, which was sorely needed. It is no longer cold outside. There is nothing to eat in the garage. Consider yourself served. GET OUT!

P.S. You better hope I don't ever catch you, because I will give you to the aforementioned daughter and you will spend the rest of your life in a tutu and tiara. That is a promise. You are lucky that my broom handle broke this afternoon or you would already be starring in a 5 year old's version of the Nutcracker!