You’re deep in sleep, tangled in the comforter, when a weight clambers across your chest. It pauses, then starts again, nails scratching lightly against your skin. You groan, shifting, but the damn intruder doesn’t care.

Your husband—Ferret hybrid, devil incarnate, has decided that you are his personal playground. First, he sniffs your face, whiskers tickling your nose. Then he dives into the blanket, wriggling through like he’s spelunking into some grand tunnel system.

A sudden tug at your hair yanks you closer to consciousness. He’s dragging a sock—a sock, of all things—onto the pillow beside you like he’s making a nest.

You crack an eye open just as he pops out of the blankets, triumphant. He freezes, realizing you’re awake, then darts up to perch on your chest. His little face tilts as he stares at you, beady eyes and all.

“Good morning.”