Dear Ferret Folks-

Well, there I was in a really bad situation. Down on my knees next
to the tub in a sopping wet flannel night gown, a nuclear fallout of
damp black dog fur raining down gently over every exposed surface. I
was holding the Noble Allis Chompers in the tub partially by sheer
willpower, but mostly by one hand on her collar. The arm that ran
between my shoulder and that hand had a happy Ping is He balanced on
it, his little face alight, holding his whiskers out at that eager
position that means "Can I help? Can I help?" The dog, fearing that
Ping was going to climb onto her soapy back had begun to vibrate in
sheer horror. A low humming noise was coming from her, and I knew
that she was about to lose it completely.

I was not happy. No, far from it.

Here was my dilemma. Did I grab Ping with my free hand, which was
completely covered with foul smelling suds up to my elbow? He would
no longer be using me as furniture, but then he would be loose in my
house, trailing foul smelling suds in his wake. Once I had finished
bathing Allis, I would then have to retrieve Ping, bathe him, the
bathroom, and last of all myself, and that was if he had not done
something unspeakable, such as try to dry himself by burrowing into
the living room sofa. As in, smearing the living room sofa with the
soapy essence of the malodorous horror that I had just scrubbed off
of Allis with my free hand with an old washcloth. Or maybe he would
roll on the carpet. Or my bedspread. Or all of the above. You get the
idea. Ferrets...they do things like that. Things you really, really
don't want them to do.

Just then, Puma started sniffing the soft, unprotected underside of
my foot. I went from Defcon Two to the highest level of emergency,
Defcon Three, because I knew I was only moments away from one of
Puma's amazing little love bites.

Should I let go of Allis, allowing her to slop gallons of foul smelling
sudsy water all over me and the bathroom, and wherever else in the
house while she ran to hide? Ping would probably fall into the tub
and have to be washed and Allis re-captured and re-washed, but Puma
wouldn't perforate my foot. I, of course, would probably wind up
washing every floor in the house.

Should I simply throw caution to the wind and take the risk of blindly
kicking Puma away from me? She might smack into something hard like
the toilet and get badly hurt, and I would feel terrible. She would
feel worse.

NONE of these choices were good ones. So I took a real gamble. I blew
a damp strand of hair out of my face and looked Ping is He, perched on
the back of the arm pinning Allis to the tub. I looked him dead in the
eye. It was not a look from the of top of the food chain to someone
lower down on it. It was not a look of master to subordinate, sentient
to animal. It was a look of one equal communicating a message to
another. And the message was very simple. "For the love of God, DON'T
HELP! NOT NOW!"

I said the words out loud to him very softly, very calmly. Ping looked
at me long and hard, and he seemed to deflate a little bit. His
whiskers drooped, and then appeared to sag in disappointment. Clutching
the damp fabric of my nightgown in his claws very carefully, he turned
around. He gave me one more very short glance, then simply flowed up
my arm and shoulder. He balanced carefully, then jumped the entire
distance to the floor, and was gone.

I would have to say that he took Puma with him, as I was not troubled
by any more of those foot tickles. I washed Allis (who now smells
good enough to be allowed back on the bed) and once again I am left
wondering. How much do they *really* understand? When push comes to
shove, how much do they really understand?

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5490]