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A mouse in the house

This is a really bad poem - but I thought it the best way to tell the tale of my unpleasant morning! Besides, one of the people I talked to said in response to my declaration "There's a mouse in my house, and I don't want him there" that it sounded like a Dr. Seuss book title! So here goes . . .
There's a mouse in my house!
And I don't want it there.
Fearless Wally by my side,
And fire poker in hand,
We tried to get it out.

 It ran up the hearth,
And into the recliner, 
Behind the entertainment center, 
And back and forth.
All the while in pursuit
Were fearless Wally and
 I with fire poker in hand.

 I called John at work.
We agreed this was not
A job for me with a poker
And a pure bred mutt.

Though part blood hound is he.

 I called Griffin Pest.
While sensing my angst
And suppressing a laugh,
Monday, she said, was as soon
As they could get here,
To get the mouse out of my house.

 I called VanDenBerg Pest.
When did you see the mouse?
He did inquire.
An hour ago, I replied.
That's late to see a mouse,
They're early morning pests.

 They can get here on Thursday,
He promised though in the meantime,
A suggestion of traps to ease my sleep.
Not good with a pure bred mutt,
With the nose of a blood hound
And appetite of labrador retriever.

Fire poker by my side and
Sleeping pure bred mutt, too
(At least one of us can).
I sit here and watch for
The mouse in my house
That I don't want there.


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It's not a popularity contest, but ...

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