My sister used to own a ferret. He was awesome and made me consider getting one.
Funny story time. One time, she was visiting during the holidays. The house we lived in was split level, so there was a landing at the entrance with two sets of stairs, one for upstairs and one for downstairs. For whatever reason, my folks didn't like having our dog, Digby, upstairs. So he was only ever allowed as far as the landing. Every morning, Dad would give Digby a slice of buttered toast, sliced in two.
So one morning, I'm downstairs playing a game or something when I hear Digby going absolutely ballistic, barking like mad. I run up to the landing and see he's got his front paws on the first step and looking upstairs at something.
I rush upstairs and look down the hallway. Here's Locksley (the ferret) bounding down the hallway with a slice of toast more than half his size pointing straight up from his mouth.
And poor Digby was powerless because he was a good dog that wasn't allowed upstairs.