There's something afoot
I know what you're trying to do. You have insinuated yourself into my home without invitation. You have invaded my space, eaten my food, and caused ripples in the harmony here. You are a danger to my children, my wife, myself. When my wife learned of your presence, she immediately sought for my intervention. She is the one who initially saw the signs you left behind. I'm on to you now, though. The time for reckoning is nigh. You have sadly mascalculated your chances of survival. I will be an implacable foe.

In like a lamb
In the beginning you worked behind the scenes, unobtrusively going about your agenda. I don't know when you first came in. You didn't kick in the door or brandish weapons to gain entry. You, (and for all I know your whole gang,) just quietly came in when no one was expecting an invasion.

You think just because you don't threaten and yell your imposition is any more palatable? Let me tell you, it isn't. You are too urbane to scream and yell to incite terror. That's what you practice, urbane warfare. You and your short gray hair, so well kemp and neat like that gives you license to go where you will, do as you may. This is my home and you are unwelcome here. I know your method. You take your sustenance from me like some parasite. You eat and drink, maybe even watch my TV or groove on the tunes coming from the speakers. You enjoy the warmth, feel my carpeting under your thieving feet. All the time you enjoy my hospitality, albeit unwilling, you carry out your biological warfare against me and my loved ones. A bit of virus here, bacteria deposited there, it's all in a days work. Nasty murdering work in which you so flippantly engage.

I'm aware now, and the gauntlet is thrown. It's you or me and I don't intend for it to be me. Somebody has to lose, so sorry. Time to set the mousetraps.