We had a vermin infestation here at the office, and a fieldmouse got caught in one of the traps. Our office manager, who is, despite a rugged backhollows childhood, a hopeless softie, has adopted the blasted thing as a pet. He's got it in a trash can on his desk, with his desklamp as a sunlamp, torn-up tissues as bedding, and a handful of popped popcorn as food. He was outraged when I offered to dispose of the critter.
I've suggested that he name it "Stomp".