My bulldog has one. Samson brings him to the back door, lays him down on the deck and he plays dead. Out of respect for Sam we haven’t eaten him, tasty as he looks.
A couple of winters ago my daughter wuld come screaming awake in her room about a ROUS. My wife patiently PATIENTLY explained it to the cat.
We called that mouse Stuart. For NINE months.
Until it had babies.