The IBOF

The Invisible Bright Orange Ferret

I wipe away the dust of sleep from my eyes. Mornings always make me feel unsettled. Dully, my body like mud, I pulled my way out of bed. It was like a struggle. Every step away from the soft, welcoming mattress would initiate its cries. I could hear it, the bed, calling to me. Come back! Come to us! We have cookies! Well bugger, I thought as I reluctantly ignored their pleas. It was tempting yes but the dark side doles out chocolate chip and I’ve their work to do. I have a piece I have to write. Creative non-fiction. That is after I stop feeling lazy.

It beckoned to me, my computer, that place of work and play. I was not crazy. I knew what I had to do. I sat down and immediately opened a game. What can I say? I had all the time in the world and besides; I did not quite know how to begin my work.

Perhaps the biggest marvel of the Internet is that other people are there. Hello, I know you’re there. You can’t see me and I can’t see you but you’re there aren’t you? Small world. Small world. I see my friend online. We talk. I wanted her to help and to see. In short, I wanted to show off. So here I am, trying to write. About what, one may ask? About someone who goes to his kitchen at the end of the day to find something that’s not supposed to be there. Do I know any stories or anecdotes like that? Nothing comes to mind. What about my other choices of things to write about? Let me see. Nothing. I’ve no ideas. But I want to finish today so my friend can give her opinion. So write I must.

I think of something that should not be there. I asked her if there was a ferret in her kitchen. Why a ferret? I don’t know. I don’t even know what it looks like (like a weasel, I later found out). I just said the first thing that came to mind. She said she doubted it. I said it could be invisible. The Invisible Bright Orange Ferret, the Invisible Pink Unicorn’s estranged cousin out of wedlock. How can Ferret and a Unicorn be related? Don’t ask. I know I don’t. Just consider this advice I can give on this conundrum: no matter what else, stranger things have happened. Try it out, it helps.

She goes to look, not for the ferret I suspect but for something out of the ordinary all the same if a bit more mundane. Oh well. No one ever bothers with the ferret but me.

She comes back. Nothing is there. Neither ferret nor anything else, she has forgotten that they were going to move soon and their kitchen is bare. Apologetic, she says so, and I find myself without a trail. What now? What now? I’ve no ideas on every topic laid before me. I find my thoughts lingering on the ferret. Why not? I write fiction best, I think. So here we go. Here we go detailing the process of how a man shall meet an invisible Ferret.

Absurd. Absurd. Absurd. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Absurdity, I mean.

It takes forever to think. Ideas sometimes take forever to ferment. This did not come quickly. But now we begin.

So there he is in my mind, the main character. He is of middling age. He works in an office, leaving early and coming home late. He is unmarried. He lives alone. He is not happy with his lot. Imagine him thus coming home from work. Tired, alone and dissatisfied—another working cog in the machinery that is society. Such a lovely thought, isn’t it? For the sake convenience we shall christen him Bob—a dull name for a dull existence. Bob.

Bob loosened his collar. Wearily, he fished out his keys, grunting as he rummaged inside his pockets. Where had he placed them? Skin grazed cold metal and he produced them finally and with a click, the door opened before him. Darkness greeted him. He felt out with his palm for the familiar switch. Click. Light flooded the room, a sterile presence. He stepped in, dropped his briefcase haphazardly and closed the door beside him. He let out a sigh, leaned against the cold wall, and closed his eyes briefly—it had been a tiring day at work. Right now, he really needed a drink.

See him, tired and alone? Little acts point to only one thing: he doesn’t care at all.

Now what about our Ferret? He is the IBOF, the Invisible Bright Orange Ferret. He doesn’t really have a name and he feels himself to be overshadowed by his more famous cousin, the Invisible Pink Unicorn, a popular icon among atheists who worship him as a joke. In Bob’s world the unicorn really does exist. And yes, he really is pink but I forget myself and ramble on again. Back to our Ferret! Our Ferret is intelligent and jaded. He is not happy as well, like Bob, but he’s more openly bitter about it. He banters, complains and drinks. In other words he’s just like every other human—silly. Like most cynics, he finds himself perpetually amused. You either laugh or live through life crying. So here we go, the IBOF.

Flicker. The lights came to life all around the room. What did it matter though? Light or dark was all the same to him. But then again, light meant that he had returned. The “owner” of the house, Bob, had come home. That didn’t really matter a lot for him either. But Bob was at least something to watch. A spectacle as he was, the IBOF, his appearance was mundane to him and so was most of the time he spent in this characterless home. To someone bored any form of amusement was manna from heaven.

Intelligent animal eyes followed Bob’s entry into the kitchen. He looked a little more tired than usual. Bob was often tired but the IBOF could tell that it was different this time. Something had gone wrong. He knew Bob’s dreams. Had known what his aspirations had been. A desk job, the IBOF knew, was certainly never a part of it. But there he was now. C’est la vie. Things rarely go according to plan. He himself was proof of that. He certainly never expected to be here, in the home of some nobody, bored out of his wits. But here he was. C’est la vie. The IBOF smirked or at least gave the impression of it. You can never truly tell with animals. Now if only something interesting would happen.

Ladies and gentlemen, that was our IBOF. Make of him what you will.

So our players are on the stage. Already we feel it, the impending momentum, the crossroad, the junction that changes everything. For you see, my friends, our invisible friend won’t remain that way for long. But how? Why by liquor of course! How else? Nothing sets up the proper conditions for hallucination better than good old brain killing alcohol. I rarely drink the stuff by the way. I rely on my mind too much to dim out the lights.

Bob walks into his kitchen. He’s had a rough day at work and things have been going bad for the office. He may lose his work soon. He feels ill. He sits by the table and holds his head, mumbling to himself in irritation. He is unaware of the ferret only a few inches away from him. Agitated, he rises again, grabs a bottle of something alcoholic and a shot glass. The IBOF perks up. Bob is about to nurse a headache to life again. He always sneaks sips when the human isn’t looking. He needs his fix too. But before Bob could settle down again, he stops. He eyes the shot glass and then shrugs setting it aside. Oh dear. The ferret sees it too. He is disappointed. There’s no way he can sneak in a drink if Bob is quaffing it from the bottle. Poor IBOF.

Seconds pass by, seconds into minutes and so on and so forth. Our dear Bob isn’t quite drunk yet. Tipsy most like. (I want him to have a semblance of his wits about, you see. I’m the writer. What I say goes. I’m kind of like god except none of my characters can be annoying atheists and agnostics voicing dissent. Oh, I’m an agnostic by the way. Take that god!) Bob looks forward. He freezes. There he is, our IBOF, staring at him or rather at his bottle of spirit but Bob doesn’t see that. It’s rather hard to think clearly when there’s a bright orange ferret in front of you. The ferret notices too. He looks behind him. There is nothing out of the ordinary. Oh dear! He too is shocked but he recovers faster. Stranger things have happened. The ferret smiles—if it could be said to be a smile—sardonically. “Hello Bob,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief and his voice syrupy with amusement.

And so meet our two characters, a hollow husk of a man and a bright orange ferret. Shock wears off and they begin to talk. Even become best of friends. They have so much in common at least as far as disappointment goes. The next scenes most like would be their conversations. I’m supposed to make some kind of point there or another. A social commentary, I think. So here I go attempting to delve some moral from the alcohol-hazed mind of an office slave and a make believe ferret.

“Money,” Bob said in what was almost a sigh. And what was man’s problem but money after all?

“Money?” The ferret asks. “You mean those bits of paper people pass around all the time?” IBOF shakes his head. He never could get money. Paper is paper. How is it that some people can toss some of it around like it was nothing and treat another set of it like all life was beholden to it? It was all just paper wasn’t it? “That’s silly,” The ferret says simply.

“It is but what can you do? Everything in society is geared towards making more. Besides you’re one to talk. You’re a bright orange ferret.” Of course this had no bearing to the IBOF. He’s always been the IBOF. It’s normal for him.

“It’s still silly.” Oh well. Silly is silly.

That’s right, folks, money is silly! Aren’t you ashamed that a Bright Orange Ferret would be the one to say it? Well there it is, the story’s point, or one of its points at least. Now that that’s done it’s time to end this.  

It’s morning now. I rush to finish. It took two days for this idea to materialize into paper. It may not be the best but it’s all I have. I’ve shown the unfinished drafts to friends. They are amused. I am too. I’m always amused. Though I think I might have to end with a lesson. Bob and our ferret have theirs so I think I should have mine as well. A point for this piece I’ve just written. So here goes. Strange ideas come from boredom, desperation and whatever deep crevasse exists in our minds. Don’t throw them away too quickly if they seem far-fetched. Who knows? It might work out and you might find it fun. I know I did. Oh and no matter what else, stranger things have happened.

And now I’m done so off I go to get my cookies.