My mom used to let us bring home any animals when we were kids so long as we were responsible enough to take care of them.
So, during that time, we owned cats, dogs, mice, hamsters, and even a canary.
The mice were my personal favorites. There were six in total, all female, in a variety of colors. I’d give them cheerios for treats and watch them run around on their wheel. In November one year, I can’t recall the exact date although we had already gotten snow on the ground, one of the cats got up onto the dresser the mice were on and knocked down their cage. My mom was the only person home when it happened and she spent the day trying to find the missing mice, but only five had been rescued by the time I got home from school. I was an absolute mess worrying about the last missing mouse. I couldn’t walk anywhere without carefully watching my step to ensure I didn’t step on them and I absolutely refused to let anyone turn on the thermostat for heating. I was fully convinced that, if the heater was turned on, the little mouse would end up in the ducts and would be cooked alive. My brother, who preferred the hamsters, got annoyed that he had to freeze over a mouse, but I had put my foot down and my mom was backing me up for the night, likely to make me feel better. My dad brought the space heaters in from the garage and we used those to heat the house instead. Thankfully, the mouse was found the next morning under the dresser its cage was on, so my furnace ban only lasted the night.