MAISY: Make a start in the lounge, duck. I'll do the stairs. Which way up does this go?
DAISY: It's a sweeping brush.
DAISY: You brush with this end. I'm beginning to think it was a big mistake to sack Mrs Weasel.
MAISY: Who needs a cleaner that won't get out of bed for less than 43p and hour? And she's so common. The whole family is. Rough as bear's...
DAISY: ...Yes, quite. Actually, I rather liked her.
MAISY: Well, there you go. You would, duck. Birds of a feather and all that. And Mrs W wasn't exactly speed made manifest. I myself personally think we're better off spring cleaning ourselves. Lob that mop over, I'm getting into my stride now.
DAISY: Why exactly did Mrs Weasel go?
MAISY: We had words, duck. Her percuniary expectations were on the ambitious side. She wasn't weasily pleased. That's a joke by the way.
DAISY: You mean she asked for her wages?
MAISY: Something like that. Then I found a rude poem propped up on my dressing table and Mrs W had legged it with a dozen eggs, a fillet steak and three bottles of claret. She said they were 'in loo' but they weren't, I looked.
DAISY: She probably meant 'in lieu'.
MAISY: No, she didn't. I just told you. They weren't in 'the smallest room'.
DAISY: It's hardly that in this place. You could be searching for days. You and your marble bath mats. I stubbed my paw cruelly the other morning.
MAISY: They're all the rage, duck. Well cool.
DAISY: Very. And lethally slippery. Anyway, where's this rude poem? Is this it?
There woz a fat ferret called Maisy
Who woz tite and terrably lazy
She wooden coff up
Witch woz very bad luck
For her posh new Verseartshe jersey
MAISY: Terrible spelling and it doesn't scan.
DAISY: It makes up for that with a certain vigour of style, perhaps? What's Mrs W done to your new woolly?
MAISY: Wadderyermean, duck? She wouldn't dare touch my cashmere Versace turtleneck. I'm wearing it tonight for a little do at Claridges.
DAISY: You'd best check.
MAISY: Urrrrkkkkk! Grrrrrrrrr!!!!
DAISY: Bleach, I think. Never mind, duck, as you celebrities say: 'It'll be all white on the night'.
(From Ferrets First - February/March 2004 - #16)