When I came home that evening, I felt tired, but energized enough from the successes of the day. I had only had three customers, and between them acquired $400 in beautiful green bills. My fingers smelled like money.
Unlike the bathroom, which smelled like shit.
Literal shit.
Loki, Nolan's pet ferret, was allowed to roam around freely during the day out of his cage. I saw the sense in giving the poor animal a bigger space to explore for eight hours. Nolan claimed that ferrets could learn how to poop in their cages, like cats using a litter box.
You obviously cannot, I thought at the furry, snakelike beast. Globules of ferret poop dotted the bathroom floor: by the toilet, by the bathtub, in the bathtub, near the closet. I felt my anger swell when I saw a line of shit in the closet, near the wall.
Loki tunneled through his playground of t-shirts and blue jean pants.