My dog is the worst cat ever.

There's plenty to enjoy about New York living. Mice are not one of them. These surreptitious little creatures have taken a liking to our apartment that has not been met with welcome, but rather glue traps.

Listen here (hear?) mice: you may be cute, but you are also dirty and gross. (I know, so is Patton but he gets a pass on this because we have a mutually rewarding relationship, I can bathe him, and he has been vaccinated.)

You are lucky my dog is a very bad cat. He might tolerate you stealing his food, but do not mistake his complacency for mine. I mean business.

I know it's cold out on the streets, little mice. We're paying $, and working professional jobs for this shelter, how about you? Oh wait, that's right, you are little food thieving pests, who poop your tiny little mouse turds where ever you happen to be standing. Let's be clear, my house is not your toilet nor your home.

You terrorize me with your incessant little scratches and scurries that quit as soon as I move in your general direction. I've caught you in the dog food, predictable choice I must say. And your attempts to get in the lidded garbage can have been humorous at times. Today I found you in the toaster and I have to admit, I threw up in my mouth a little; well played.

Don't press your luck, little gypsy pirate mice, or we will switch from glue traps to spring loaded crushers faster than you can say "An American Tail".