The Disney Princess No One Asked For

I started with Snoozanne, the bulldog. She’s stubborn, snores louder than my fiancé, and has a face only a mother could love — which works out fine because she’s my baby.

Then came the fish. Easy, I thought. Throw in some food, admire them from afar, try not to kill them (story for another day). But apparently, the universe thought, “You seem under-challenged. Let’s crank this up.” Before we knew it I upgraded three times and boom….75 gallon tank!

One morning, my fiancé shouts from the bathroom, “There’s a ferret in our bathroom!”

Me, full of confidence: “No there’s not.”

Reader, there was.

We tracked down the source — the new neighbor — who casually mentions, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a bunch of pets… bunnies, ferrets, you know.”

You know. Like normal people with their ferret-bunny combos.

Fast-forward and we discover a domesticated black lionhead bunny in our backyard. We name him Dennis Hopper (because obviously). Assuming he belonged to said neighbor, we… did not return him. We’d seen his pet-keeping skills. Pass.

Instead, we spent two months earning Dennis’s trust — food bribes, slow moves, whispered sweet nothings — until I could grab him. He now lives under Millie’s bunk bed, which has been converted into a bunny hut. And because bunnies need friends, we’re already plotting his future roommate.

Then, a few weeks later, my best friend is sitting on the porch and screams, “Something’s moving!” We investigate… and find a domesticated fancy rat. Not a NYC subway rat, but a cute, multi-colored one. Naturally, I start feeding him too and plan to find him a rescue.

At this point, I feel like the low-budget, menopausal Cinderella — minus the singing, plus hot flashes — with a wildlife entourage that includes bears, raccoons, chipmunks, fisher cats, coyotes, and bobcats.

My fiancé doesn’t need to worry about me cheating. He needs to worry about me bringing home more animals. And honestly… it’s a valid concern.