It's not every day that you find a ferret in your house. Of course, in our home it just seems to be par for the course.
I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom. The Rock Star was relaxing on the couch. The Little Buddy was asleep in his room. I came down to put the toilet brush back in the bathroom we store it in and I noticed the dog standing, hunched, over something in the corner of the bathroom. I thought he'd vomited. Suddenly, a little creature emerged from underneath him. For a moment I thought it was the cat but suddenly realized it was too small and narrow to be Oliver.
Within a second it registered. A ferret. There's a ferret in my house.
I said as much out loud and Garrett responded, immediately, without having even seen the thing, "Can we keep it?"
Remembering that I once saw the neighbor outside with a ferret I replied, "No. I think it belongs to the neighbor."
The dog was following it around, sniffing it, trying to get it to play. I put him outside, closed the back door--which had been left open and which was, undoubtedly, the cause of having a tiny member of the weasel family in our house--and picked up the ferret.
We walked next door, knocked on their door, and presented them with their pet. "I didn't know it was missing. He must have gone out the doggie door again."