Say cheese

We've been trying to catch this annoying little creature in our garage.
Or at least, Marc's been trying.
I'm in charge of squealing and demanding that he do something.
It's been his job to dig out the traps, load them with cheese and dispose of the little critter(s) if we catch any.
It started a couple of weeks ago when he heard one scrabbling about beneath the sack of black oil sunflower seeds we keep to feed the birds.
He set out a trap and promptly caught one.
Then a few days later he heard more scrabbling and this time, there were four baby mice running about in the box beneath the seed.
That was way too creepy for me.
I made Marc take them far away.
Now we figure there's at least one left, a single parent if you will.
And he/she has been tricky to catch.
Marc has baited the trap a couple of times with peanut butter and/or cheese and both times the mouse has taken the bait and run off with it.
This last time Marc brought the empty trap in to show me there was no mouse and no cheese.
I didn't like that he put it on my kitchen counter. It had been in close proximity to grossness.
I liked it even less when he took the hand with which he'd been holding the trap and plunged it into the sack of cheese to get another bit.
I opened the drawer and pulled out a marker.
Marc looked at me curiously.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "The mouse can't read."
"I know," I said, writing "Poison!" on the bag in big red letters.
"And now, we can't ever use any of this cheese for anything but mice again," I said.
Marc thinks I'm over reacting here because I'm throwing out almost a half pound of perfectly good cheese.
I KNOW we can't ever eat any more of that particular cheese.
Ladies, am I wrong?