The house I lived in out on Claus road was on the highest piece of ground on the property, so when they irrigated every 18 days, the house would be overrun with mice. While it was semi-creepy, it made for some great shooting.
I had my couch on one wall and my T.V., stereo, and dogfood dish against the cabinet and built-in bookshelf that made up the other wall. At night, I would lay on the couch with my pellet pistol propped up on my leg. Pretty soon, I'd see a brown flash zip into Caps' food dish. Then it was just a waiting game, because they'd eat their fill, stuff their cheeks full, and stick their heads up over the edge of the bowl to make sure the coast was clear. That's when I'd blast the cute little buggers.
But wait! There was a couple of catches. Number one, I only had about a half a second to shoot, and number two, it had to be a head shot. If I hit the little sucker anywhere but the head, they'd go into the walls to die, I don't care how hard they were hit. On a good night I could get 20-30 mice. I had a piece of plywood tacked to the cabinet behind the food dish as a backstop, but 2 or 3 times a night, I would get a running shot at a mouse along another wall. Sometimes I connected, sometimes I missed. I also wasn't above snapping off 6 shots with a 22 pistol at a mouse hooking it up across the middle of the floor. Needless to say, that house was so full of bullet holes after 6 years, if you backed into it with a car it would have fallen over.
After I got raided and had to move, it took me and Dave 24 solid hours to patch all the bullet holes, replace all the baseboards in the living room (they were shot to pieces) and paint. What really pissed me off was that they bulldozed the place after I moved into Dave's place. All that work for nothing.
I never really had a mouse problem in my little brown shack for the first couple of years that I lived there. Then I got a hair up my ass and killed the nest of rattlesnakes that lived underneath the house. What in the world was I thinking?