When I see a mouse run into my room in broad daylight, I yell “Fuck you!” at it, and then I run away. When my rooommate catches a mouse in the bathroom, she gives him a cookie to tide him over for the walk out of our apartment.
Did I mention we have a mouse problem? Riboflavin discovered the first one, dead on the kitchen floor. To date four have been evicted from the premises. Our cat is only the second best mouser in the household, trailing Mi5 by one. (He does get bonus points for putting his into her shoe, though.)
Little Lambs Eat Ivy 
My approach falls somewhere in the middle. I just try to send them mental messages to leave the room when I enter.
P.S. You tagged this post as “family”? I want to hug you.
I don’t use “mental messages” so much as “loud stomping and clapping” when I enter the room. I’m sure our downstairs neighbors love us. But then, they smoke directly under my window, so I don’t really care.
(I mean, your census material was addressed to “The Riboflavin Household.” Clearly we’re family.)