The trouble with mice

Is anyone else bothered by the fact that Stuart Little is a mouse born to humans?  Yesterday I got into a heated discussion with two friends who were adamant that E.B. White's character Stuart was simply adopted or somehow found by the family.  I said, no, he's a mouse and his mother, Mrs. Little, brought him home from the hospital.  He is the biological son of human parents.  We consulted that beacon of reliability, Wikipedia, and that seemed to be enough to verify that yes, he was a mouse with maybe some recessive human genes.  That's cool?  E.B., where did you come up with this?

I get that the book Stuart Little is a story of independence and the pursuit of beauty.  I also love me some E.B. White (The Trumpet of the Swan is a favorite), but I'm getting the impression that E.B. had a bit of a fascination with mice that went beyond inspiration.  It seems like they were the symbol for something that plagued him.  I was reading a little bit of his biography where it's mentioned that he struggled with "nerves" when he wasn't happy with his writing.  He went to see a doctor in 1944 about his head, "as there seems to be a kite caught in the branches somewhere." He also likened it to a battery getting overcharged after a long drive.  He wrote the following poem that same year about his troubles.

Vermin

The mouse of Thought infests my head.
He knows my cupboard and the crumb.
      Vermin! I despise Vermin.
I have no trap, no skill with traps,
No bait, no hope, no cheese, no bread–
I fumble with the task to no avail.
I’ve seen him several times lately.
He is too quick for me,
I see only his tail.

(Sad fact:  E.B. White died in 1985 of Alzheimer's.)