Stuffed Pet Store

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The pet store manager flipped the sign on her bedroom door knob.  She had to shuffle a few things around really quick before her customers entered. This was the knob you turned if you wanted to adopt a stuffed animal.  There were bells. 
Ten minutes ago, it was just a room for a girl to sleep in. 
"The Pet Store is now open!  I will repeat.  The pet store is now open!  Thank you."

Her customers drop pancakes on plates and run up the stairs.  (She has an uncaged shop, so only one customer may enter at a time; it's for safety reasons).

She wooed one brother in, arm over his shoulder, and told him the secrets to keeping a penguin happy.  "Let him waddle, don't feed him bananas, he loves Antarctica best of all, so feel free to stick him in the freezer every once in a while, he'll freshen right up.  Thank you.  Come again." 
She walks him to the door, shoves him out.  Deal's done, out you go!  Customer's are waiting.

"And, Welcome!" she greets her other brother who's allowed to browse only with his eyes-she has strict rules about walking in free-range pet shops.  "Don't."  He points to a hedgehog.  Adorable baby, tummy-up hedgehog, "surprisingly soft and cozy enough to carry between your shoulder and your neck."  That's it, he's sold!

I am welcome next.  I say I'm not interested in buying a pet today, but I do happen to be doing a story for the newspaper.  Does she have time for a brief interview?

"There's a line."

"Okay!  I'll be quick." 

"How do you have time to care for all these animals in your stuffed animal pet shop?

"Well, you can offer to loan them to your friends for a thousand days at a time, that's a big help.  Feeding is pretty easy.  They mostly all love to eat grass and pineapple.  Except I feed the dog's bones, of course.  The chameleon is eating just grass until I can look up some more information on that one."

Tell me what all you have here in your shop?

Well, a big dog, and also one that is five-inches-ten-centimeters, for sale. I have a hamster.  A turtle.  I might have a chameleon (which I can't find just now) and some kind of lizard. I'm going to sell it as a gecko, but I can go on-line and find out what it really is. It's cute.

"How should customers be prepared to pay?  Do you take cash and credit cards at your stuffed animal shop? 

"Actually, I hope this is okay, but I only take Life cards, we'll put them back in the boardgame after this.  So, you can buy any animal with this orange card and any three animals with the green one."

I take them to read.  'House,' they say, and 'Long-term Investment.'  This shop seems steep.

"Well, I can see my pets are panicking."  She's done with the interview, and as an audio exclamation point she yells over my ear but is not speaking for me, "Citizen's come in and visit my store.  Announcing: Pet Store Open!  I have four species of dogs, I repeat, four species.  Come one, come all."

I am not told to leave, but it's apparent, "the press" is unwanted.

"Good-bye," she does acknowledge I'm leaving the shop.  "And Good Luck.  With any new pets.  And tell your friends that, I. Am. A. Professional."

She shuts the door behind me.  The first customer is back, it looks to me like he's hoping to return that penguin.

"Good Luck," I say, and tip my hat.