Tiger king but less dramatic

My Dog Is a Psychic but Your Ferret Belongs in an Asylum

The story of the time Scooby almost ate a ferret

When I tell my bros down at the dog park that mine is a psychic they nod and chuckle. Like I’m one of those nauseating parents who boasts about how their puppy started crawling at just four months, or learnt how to shit over a drain by two. My dog is not advanced. He is not smart. He is a psychic because he makes predictions just vague enough to sound promising and still be safe from blame when they end in disaster. Like fortune cookies:

The other day I get home from work and ask the Scoobinator if we should go for a walk. No barks for no. One bark for yes. He barks 27 times, which I take to be a prediction the walk will be 27 times more enjoyable than walking. Something like having sex with Kim Kardashian while the Oscar’s award you best supporting actor over Casey Affleck. Oh, Scooboss. Don’t even tempt me with one of your spewed grass readings. So me and Scoobzizzle are on our walk (no one yet in sight who appeared capable of destroying the world wide web), when I see this elongated rat on a leash. Scoobtube is understandably confused and aggressive. Instead of turning and fleeing (signs of a sane weasel), this muddafucker starts to dance. It leads with MJs thriller, then transitions into the worm and finishes with the robot.

Apparently ferrets dance when confronted with danger. Like maybe if they dance real good they can hypnotise the predator and escape.

I always wondered why R. Kelly’s backup dancers were so exceptional.

I ask the human at the other end of the leash, ‘Shit, you bust this thing out of an asylum?’

He looks at me all confused, a little bit asylumy himself, and says, ‘No, why would you think that?’

I do some research, and tell him why I think that. Ferrets stink.

Bad enough that most of them would never make it past the first audition to become an R&B dancer. They smell like sweat-soaked faeces. If you’ve never smelt a ferret, do yourself a favour and give one a sniff. It really resets your nostril palate. After copping a whiff of this ferret, my garbage bin now smells like ocean spray. My grandfather’s armpit now smells like cookies fresh out of the oven. The decomposing cow I may or may not have stolen on a drunken night out to the country that sits in my home office? Like new car smell. But the ferret? Kind of smells like it should be in an asylum. Apparently ferrets sleep like 15–16 hours a day.

Again, perfect for asylum living. If you’re in a padded room all day, you may as well pass the time sleeping. Otherwise you’d go insane. Now, when ferrets aren’t sleeping or dancing, they like to spend their time being carved up or injected with deadly viruses and chemicals in the name of science and the gentle march of progress.

Hard as it may be to believe, ferrets share a shit ton of genetic material with us humans, which means cosmetics companies are lining up to paint napalm eyeliner all over their cute little faces. Now that the cancel culture has banned some asylums from performing these well justified procedures on humans, perhaps a few more committed ferrets will solve everyone’s problems.

By this time, ferret owner Cletus Wiesel III is enquiring how much longer I’m going to hold him hostage in the internet café while I ask Mr. Fortnite to google ferret facts for me.

‘Not long,’ I say, frustrated yet again at Mr. Fortnite’s two finger typing skills.

Scoobalicious is ravenous, and the triangular-shaped turd he deposits on the cafe’s doorstep could be interpreted as another of his omens.

I stare at the ferret. It’s little panda-like face tilts to the side, it’s tiny feet on the verge of boogieing. It is only then that I ask myself: what sort of sick fuck could harbour any ill will towards a creature of such grace and beauty?

Cleatus Wiesel III answers my question for me, ‘The type who belongs in an asylum.’

*Apparently Garnier is now cruelty free. Good on you. Pity they are owned by L’Oreal, who test harmful cosmetics on animals but try and pretend they don’t.

On a serious note, deinstitutionalisation and the closure of the majority of asylums has not necessarily led to better outcomes for people with mental health issues. My friend works as a mental health nurse, and the lack of funding for community mental health treatment means the majority of people with serious mental illness suffer at home, present to the emergency department, or end up in prison.

Look out for each other.

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