And there was me defending Grumpy Ferret's honour by claiming that he'd been really good and not-really-very-bitey recently.
I believed it. I honestly did.
But first, a bit of background:
There is a certain blue, knobbly squeaky toy that the boys play with sometimes. It's actually quite stiff, so they never cause it to squeak themselves, but if I pick it up and squeak it for them they go wild.
Admittedly, I've never been terribly certain if this is because they really love the sound of it squeaking, or they really hate the sound. I'm actually still not too sure, but Biscuits definitely got a little over-excited this last time.
As did I, in fact, after he had leapt up and given the bottom of my thumb the Grip of Death.
I'm not proud of it, but I think I nearly strangled him in my attempts to dissuade him. All he decided to do, however, was take this as an opportunity to adjust his grip and clamp down again.
I have counted a total of 10 toothmarks on my hand, half of them bleeding slightly. I also have an attractive lump of flesh that is now only attached in one place by a thin piece of skin. This can be flipped in and out of the surrounding hand on demand.
And I actually swore very loudly when I cleaned this particularly nasty wound up, which isn't like me.
Well, swearing loudly is very much like me; but being such a girl about a little bit of antiseptic really isn't.
The final outcome?
Well, he's right back in the naughty books. Although, I did later let him lick my nose as a show of good faith.
I guess I never will bloody learn.
