When I was a boy, we had a bit of a problem with mice. Often, in my bedroom at the end of the house, I would hear them in the walls, chewing on wood. At least, that’s what it sounded like. I didn’t actually see them very often. They were primarily a problem in the kitchen. If you pulled a box out of the cupboard, you checked the corners to make sure it hadn’t been eaten into by a mouse. If they had, you threw it away.
One of the funnier incidents happened when we had company over for supper. The vent-a-hood over the range had a hemispherical globe that was the filter, which was secured by a wing-nut on a fixed stud in the center. Anyhow, we had company over, and at some point, somebody heard some noise coming from the vent-a-hood.
I remember Dad going over to the stove, and staring intently at the vent-a-hood filter, listening carefully.
Then, he reached up and turned the fan on, waited 20 seconds, (whap-whap-whap-whap-whap) and turned it back off. Then he removed the filter, with the mouse inside, and carried it out for disposal.
This was hilarious at the time, mostly because of how matter-of-fact Dad was about the whole thing. Push button, remove mouse. Simple as that. I have to say, I liked the way he thought.
Later, we got rid of the mice (as far as I can remember) when Dad set a burning bucket of sulfur under the house. This drove the mice out. It drove us out, too, but we came back.
The place smelled like fire & brimstone for a while, though.