Litters of 14, zero marketing spend, September liquidity event. Long ferrets
The collective noun for ferrets is 'a business'. The diarist mentions this bashfully. We mention it REVERENTLY, because the fundamentals of this Kent shed operation deserve a proper prospectus.
Production: litters of up to fourteen kits per jill, gestation six weeks, zero capex beyond a shed and a hollowed nest the workforce builds itself. Product-market fit: two-month-old inventory that is 'thickly furred, eyes wide open' — self-marketing assets that appreciate by being adorable. Distribution: a proprietary network of 'colourful characters' (the local ferret fraternity — try replicating THAT moat, private equity) culminating in a September liquidity event at the Gypsy horse fair, a venue with several centuries of uninterrupted operation, which is more than the FTSE can say.
Risk disclosures, in fairness: the workforce bites, the founders' courtship practices would alarm HR (seizure by neck, dragging to corner — although note it resolves in a single sleeping coil, which is better post-merger integration than most), and the mothers unionize every June, dragging the product back to the nest until slumping in exhausted concession. Labour always concedes to adventure. So does capital.
My barber asked if there's money in ferrets. There is not. There is a BUSINESS in ferrets, which is the older and better thing: production, community, a fair in September, and summer's end as the closing bell. NFA.