The exterminator just left. He threw some poison around in my attic (Note: I first typed "attack" instead of "attic") and set sticky traps around my house.
If you don't know what a sticky trip is, it's a non-poisonous "trap" that humanely catches the little mouse bastard and, according to the package instructions, I am to pour mineral oil on the trap, gently remove the little mouse bastard and let him loose at a location at least a mile from my house.
This is how the conversation with my little exterminator guy went:
Little exterminator guy: Okay, I've put sticky traps on each side of your refrigerator...(blah, blah, blah...telling me where he put the traps) and you should look at them every day...
Laurie: You mean, I should call my daddy to come over and look at them every day.
Little exterminator guy: They're more afraid of you than you are of them.
Laurie: I knew someone was going to say that to me eventually and I seriously doubt it.
Little exterminator guy: If you see something on the trap...
Laurie (beginning to have a freak out): I should call my daddy?
Little exterminator guy (giving up): Yes, you should call your daddy.