You're going down, Mr Mouse!

Tuesday I came home a little early, still light outside, and as I opened the front door I called out for Lori, as I just about always do.  I didn't expect for her to be home, and didn't hear any reply to my call, so went about my doings, putting stuff down, picking stuff up, mumbling and singing to myself.  Then, while I was standing in the doorway between the living and dining rooms, in a moment that seemed to stretch time, I saw the dark gray ass-end of an uninvited guest scootch into the gap between the pine floor and the molding of our 130 year old walls, right at the doorway to the kitchen and where the plumbing runs up from the cellar.  Without thought and, I guess pretty loudly, I shouted, You're going down, Mr Mouse!

What did you say?, called Lori from behind me.

Freeze.  Babe, I didn't know you were home.

What did you say?

Uh, when?

Just now.  What did you say?

I don't know.  I didn't realize I'd said anything.  I was mumbling to myself.  I didn't realize you were home.

That night, quietly and without familial discussion, I set out a trap.
And yesterday when I got home, Mr. Mouse had gone down.  With PB on his snout.
And when Lori got home last night, I fessed up.
And Lori said, I thought that's what you said!

At least she didn't see the little dance I did when I said it.