When we left off...
 
With that the she hoomin reached out one hand and scooped France up in
it, as the little hog frantically tried to make herself into a round ball
of salt-and pepper colored spikes.  She hissed menacingly, but the she
hoomin was not in the least intimidated.  France found herself being
cradled against the she hoomin's chest, and being carried to the front
door, and up the stairs.
 
"Merde!" swore France quietly, beneath her breath.  "And I just heard
*what*?" said the she hoomin, pausing near the topmost step.  France
did her very best at that moment to look innocent.  She opened her
black eyes wide, and wore the most vacant expression she could manage.
"Hmmmmmmm...." said the she hoomin, and continued to the top of the
stairs...
 
Ping and Puma, hearing the she hoomin walking down the hall to the Ferret
Room, each dove headfirst into a separate fleece snuggle sack and
pretended to be asleep...so it was really their *tails* sticking out of
the sacks that the hoomin addressed.
 
"She could have fallen, or been taken by a raccoon." With that the hoomin
bent over the plexiglass door barrier, and deposited the small HHog On
the Ferret Room floor.  She turned and walked down the hall into her
bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
 
It was very, very quiet in the Ferret Room, even though the distant
muffled THOOMPS! and THWEES! could still be heard.
 
France said nothing, simply walked stiffly to her favourite cardboard
box, and disappeared inside through the little hole cut in one side.
 
Ping and Puma belly-crawled out of their respective fleece sleepy sacks
and regarded one another, silently.  What could they possibly say?  They
had *left* France out in the night.  With Raccoons.  Big tom cats.  Mean
dogs.  Or a long fall.  They had done this thing.  Nobody had made them.
 
Finally, Ping got up and padded over to the toy box.  He picked up his
battered but much beloved soft gray fur mouse in his mouth, and carried
it over to the hole cut in France's favourite carbdboard box.  He dropped
it at the entrance, and said.  "This is my best toy.  You can have it,
France." And he walked away, and hopped up into the hammy.  Puma slowly
got up and joined Ping in the hammy.  The two snuggled together, saying
nothing.  What could they say?  Raccoons.  Big tom cats.  Mean dogs.  A
long fall.
 
Finally, a little rustling noise, and the back half of the fur mouse
disappeared into the cardboard box.  A moment of adjustment, and the
entire mouse disappeared into the box.  All was silent.
 
Ping said "Do you think she forgives us?"
 
"Maybe," said Puma.  "Maybe she will, eventually."
 
"Even though we're all neck, and we smell?"
 
"And we're thieves, we're all thieves" giggled Puma.
 
"And we don't appreciate the genius of Jerry Lewis, who won the French
medal of the Legion of Honor?"
 
At that Puma gasped out, laughing "An' zee indiscriminate bombing of zee
allies in France in World War Two?"
 
"Forgot that one, Dude!" snarfed Ping.
 
At that, silence settled over the Ferret Room, except for the occasional
chuckle that came from the hammy.
 
It was a *beautiful* night in central Massachusetts.  After weeks of
rain, a few dry days to enjoy summer.  The nights, though, were a special
delight.  The air cooled and softened into dusk.  A thin mist came up
from the surface of the lake, and the orange half moon was mirrored,
rippling, in the water.  The loon called a few times, and the birds all
went to sleep.  The fireflies came out and started flashing in the long
grass.  Swift, angular bats came out from their daytime places, and
swooped through the air, searching for mosquitos.  The air smelled of
pine, and garden lillies, and all the secret things that make up a
summer night
 
And in the Ferret Room, peace reigned, at least for a little while.
 
-END-
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5303]