Okay, this is going to be a let down, due to all the build-up, but considering that I now have people emailing me about it, I guess Iíll tell you about my brotherís ferret.
The details arenít going to be 100% accurate, I can tell you that right now. For example, I think I was in 7th grade, but I might have been in 8th. Iím pretty sure I was thirteen, which would have made my brother around eight.
He had this ferret named Skippy. Skippy was a cool little bastard, always running around like a Slinky with fur, wrestling with your foot and acting like a skitzy little freak. It was kind of like having a cat with a much better personality, and on loads of crack cocaine. The first time my future brother-in-law came to visit my sister at our house (he lived in Kansas, we lived in Texas), my brother opened the bathroom and dumped the ferret into the shower with him. Much screaming like a little girl ensued.
Point being, it was a very cool little creature and we all really liked it. My brother, as a child, was terrible with animals. Dogs ran from him, cats clawed him, birds flew away from him, fish died. It was kind of sad because my brother really loved animals. Problem was, he wasn't that great with them. He was incredibly hyperactive as a child, and not all that coordinated. Heíd run to give you a hug, trip, and end up giving you a speeding head-butt to the nuts at ten miles an hour. Or youíd be lying there on the floor watching TV, and heíd stand up from the couch, lose his balance, and fall on your kidneys. The only person who has ever had the honor of making me piss blood was my brother, and Iím pretty sure he was just trying to go get some Kool-Aid.
Anyway, he got this ferret, and they made a great team. Heíd carry it around on his head and shit. We all really liked that ferret, but my brother flat-out loved it.
Now hereís where it gets a little gross, so if you need to blame someone, blame rik. Iím hitting puberty around this point, right? I can tell because I had a wet dream. Only I didnít know what the hell a wet dream was. I mean, I had heard rumors at school and stuff, but I didnít even equate it to what happened to me that morning. So I get up, confused, and filled with shame, and start washing a load of laundry. There are already clothes in the dryer, and we were taught that when there are clothes in the dryer, youíre supposed to dry them for a minute to get the wrinkles out before you take them out.
So I close the dryer door, start it up, and hop in the shower. Flash forward about half an hour. My brother canít find his ferret anywhere, so weíre all kind of looking around for it. In the meantime, I go to switch the laundry, and discover strange stains all over my shirts that Iím taking out of the dryer. And thenÖ
See, the ferret used to like to get in on top of the clothes as soon as you opened the dryer. Sometimes, it would go to sleep in there. We were all pretty good about checking it, but I had other things on my mind that day, like what the hell was going on with my body, so I didnít even think about it.
Long story short, I killed my brotherís ferret.
And oh, man, was my brother tore up about it. He cried and cried and cried, and I felt awful. I ended up going out and hiding in some trees and bawling my ass off because I felt so bad.
I dried my brother's favorite pet to death, and to this day, I still feel guilty about it.
And thatís the story of my brotherís ferret. Thanks rik, for bringing it up. Hey, you know what you should write about? That cat you loved so much that died of cat AIDS. Wouldnít that be funny?