Henry Henrietta

There is a small mouse
That lives in my house
In the kitchen, behind the stove.

She's set up her house,
Perhaps with a spouse,
In a plaster, wood, and formica grove.

I see her about
With her cute little snout,
And her scuttling I do loathe.

It's been six months now,
And she ought to take a bow
For the labyrinth in which she roams.

I won't set a trap
I couldn't deal with that,
If for the cheesy trap she dove

--"Splat!"--

At night and at day
I can see her at play,
Across, around, behind, the cloves.

So though I regret
To have such a pet,
She has created her home sweet cove.

In the wall she will stay
Until there comes the day
A contruction person will behold,
A very nice mouse,
Now known as the louse,
Who's stayed at my house,
For far too long
In the kitchen behind the stove.

"Scuttle, scuttle," and "crinkle, squeek."
Now in the kitchen I hear her peep,
And goosebumps overwhelm from my head to my feet.
Because Henry the mouse,
Or Henrietta the spouse,
Has come out again to roam the house.