Mice, mice everywhere, and not a drop to drink...

The Mice were back. I'd found them this morning, milling around in my basement. They seemed to have upgraded their weaponry since the last time, and some were wearing adorable little camouflage costumes.
 "Sup?" I asked the leader casually.
 "My friend!" He replied, "We became disillusioned with the rebellion. We are now soldiers of fortune!"
I'll admit, the leader's dialogue was somewhat clunky and expositional. On the other hand, he was doing very well for a mouse. He was leaning against the wall now, in camo fatigues, and holding a cigarette.
 Oh, I told him. Secretly though, I was beginning to plot ways I could use an army of mice... After all, I have a lot of enemies. And some friends as well... Ooh, I'd make them pay...

 Anyway, the Smurfs were back. They too were milling around, in the garden. They'd cut some branches, and started to set up for a siege. Tiny smurf engineers had begun work on tiny catapults and battering rams. I'd tried to negotiate with them, but to no avail. Similarly, my bribes of catfood had been unsuccessful. I offered them one last chance to leave, then set the mice on them.
 The garden's a blood mess. Mice guts are spread across the path. Tiny blue arms are stuck up trees, little white hats are piled sadly beside my rosebush. Max arrived earlier, and since this was his fault, I sent him to work with a leaf blower, cleaning the place up.