There is a ferret in my nightshirt.
She sneaks into my bed at night after I've fallen asleep, slips under the blanket, noses her way under my nightshirt in the dark.
Half-consciously aware of her presence, I reach up under my nightshirt and stroke her fur, rub its musky softness between my fingers, inhale the scent of her in the night.
She presses warmly against my bare skin beneath the nightshirt, curls into herself. I hear her tiny contented sigh, feel her tiny contented heart beat beneath her skin here in the shadows.
We dream together, the ferret in my nightshirt and I, dream of the gnashing of teeth and the tearing of flesh, bloody gobbets of muscle, animal screams and death in the dark.