I lived in an old town-house in a small city in Ireland.
It had a long, narrow garden, a remnant of the days long past, when people would grow food to eat and gift to neighbours, receiving homegrown foods some times from them too.
One day I sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and chatting with my one of my housemates.
A rapid blur on the floor shot through my peripheral, and drew both our eyes. Nothing there. We looked at each other with raised eyebrows: We both had heard a quiet scuffle.
I remembered how a few days previous, we had found mouse droppings in a cabinet in the kitchen. We waited. This time we saw it.
A sweet little creature, a mouse, peeped out from beneath the kitchen cabinet. His whiskers twitched, he looked at both of us, then scurried back into hiding.
Now I have no ill-will against mice. I quite like mice. But unfortunately, they will breed like crazy and before you know it your house becomes very unhealthy.
Knowing this, upon discovery of the evidence of these little creatures, we had purchased mouse-traps. We hadn't yet had the incentive to set these traps, until now.
My housemate suggested using cheese as a bait. I recommended jam. We used both. We watched. The mouse walked eagerly into the trap.