Field mice.
Our first house was near a field, so we got field mice running around in the cupboards, nibbling the corners of packets of food and shitting everwhere.
Humane traps were useless, despite peanut butter being a foolproof bait, so I reluctantly moved on to poison. The mice, who were so reluctant to eat the peanut butter, were very keen on the poison, and I had two dead the morning after setting the traps (take note: peanut butter is not attractive to mice, but small, green crystals are irresistable), and thoroughly enjoyed my wife's terrified scream when she found them. However, the trick with mouse poison is to remember where you put the traps: I was less than impressed when, 6 months later, I found myself peeling the dried out remains of a field mouse, from the bottom of the leccy meter cupboard.

On the plus side, living in a semi-rural area quickly cured me of any sqeamishness with regards to dead animals. A pity that the same could not be said for my neighbour, who would leave whatever her cat killed for me to clear away. Shooing the local pre-schoolers away from the remains of a particularly large rabbit was not a highlight of my time there (I buried it in the garden, from where it was swiftly exhumed and consumed by the local foxes), and there were regular deposits of mice, small birds, and frogs, for me to deal with.

I hate cats. Not my neighbour, though - she was a bit of a milf.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 22 Dec 2011, 15:45, 1 reply)

Its a good job I'm not squeamish - my cats regularly bring me gifts of decapitated pigeons, sometimes plucked and gutted too, but always left outside my bedroom door for me to find first thing in the morning.
(Freakmandu, Thu 22 Dec 2011, 15:51, closed)