Gemotions

He wandered through the apartment, kicking at loose socks and empty water bottles. A vague sense of dissatisfaction gnawed at him, a persistent emptiness that no amount of food or entertainment seemed to fill. The walls seemed to press in on him, the ceiling felt lower. He felt trapped, suffocated by the repetition of his days. He needed a distraction, something, anything to pull him out of this slump.

“A ferret,” he blurted out, the word tumbling from his lips before he could stop it.

His roommate, Kevin, was engrossed in a video game, his fingers flying across the controller. He didn't even look up. "A ferret? We’re not running a zoo, man. Plus, they stink. And I'm pretty sure that would bother the landlord. Hard no."