Stuart Little...we hardly knew ye (sniff).

EEEEEEEKKKKKK!!!

That's the sound I heard as my husband, broom in hand, chased a mouse from the hall closet, through the kitchen...straight at me! I swear it was as big as a raccoon, or a possum, or, at the very least, a squirrel on steroids.

"Stuart" (that's what we named him) ran, who knows where because I wasn't watching. "Where'd he go?" my exasperated husband asked.

"EEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!" I answered.

"How am I supposed to find him if you don't know which way he went?!"

"EEEEEEEKKKKKK!!!!!" By this time, my shrieking was coming from the top of a stepstool.

"Mary. It's a MOUSE! It can't hurt you. It's a little bitty MOUSE!"

I knew he was right, but I stood my ground...on top of the stepstool. All I could think about was the time a friend had spotted a snake in her house and called her husband at work, from the top of her refridgerator. Oh, I finally ventured down. After a half hour search behind the sofa, behind the TV wall unit, behind the rattan chest, etc., my husband signaled "all clear" and I confidently ran to the sofa and plopped my feet on the coffee table keeping one eye on Boston Legal and one eye on the family room floor.

Next day, "Stuart" was spotted on the top basement step. A 1/2 inch gap under the basement door had apparently been his invitation into our house.

Yesterday, "Stuart's" mousie door was plugged with weather stripping, keeping him trapped in our basement for all eternity.

But, I'm such a softie, I'm hoping to, one day, walk down the basement steps and see him standing, suitcase in hand, at the door leading to our backyard. "Hey, ya wanna let me out?" he'll motion.

I'll open the door and watch him run to freedom...until the next cold snap finds him and, perhaps, Mrs. Little and the Little brood searching for a way back into our nice, warm family room, or (shudder) pantry!