Pet Ferret

I was sitting on the bus the other day thinking about the two pet cats I used to own and how I would spend half my life cleaning out their litter tray, or picking up sicky fur-balls, when I began to wonder if a ferret wouldn’t be a better bet. A better pet, actually.

 

It seemed like a good idea at first, until the ferret I was imagining turned nasty and bit me. Flipping painful, I can tell you. Made me realise just what poor old Richard Whiteley had been put through on his afternoon TV show all those years ago when a piece on ferrets went sour and the one he was holding locked its teeth on his finger and wouldn't let go. The ferret wrangler telling him it was only playing didn't cut much ice, that's for sure.

 

To get my imaginary ferret off, I had to force my mobile phone into its mouth to prise its jaws open and it hurt so much, I got really angry and shouted at it and waved my bloody hand in its face.

 

“Look what you’ve done, you spiteful little git!” I yelled. “I saved you from the ferret sausage factory out of the goodness of my heart and just look at the thanks I get!”

 

A moment later, a girl walked past the bus toting a fine pair of baby feeders and attention grabbed, my pet ferret ceased to exist. Sad really. Even if it was a bit aggressive.