The ferret's grand ambition was this: to escape his exile on the table and fly free across the great chasm, to the far-off ironing board. His owners ruled everything he could see, but surely they could not rule the sky.
They told him it couldn't be done, that the power to ride the air was never meant for humble ferret-kind. But, feh! he dismissed them, rubbing his head on the table with casual unconcern.
And then at last he took flight, for one miraculous second believing himself a furry little god, imbued with the power to command the wind itself.
No, ferret. You are a ferret. Ferrets cannot fly. Why did you do that ferret. No.