Dear Ferret Folks-
Yet another facet of Ping is He's personality has been revealed to us
here in Massachusetts. The way the kitchen is set up in our new house,
I simply *can't* keep him off of the central island where I do my
chopping, mixing, etc. Whenever he wants (and he wants, often) he can
climb up the dog's velvety green armchair and scamper right onto the
formica top of the island. This is a small house and I don't have many
options about where that armchair goes. Even if I swing it into another
spot, I'm pretty sure he can climb up *through* the small cabinet with
the marble top and leap onto the island that way. Again, small house. I
don't have a lot of options. Ferrets are really good at making and
exploiting options when hoomins don't want them to.
Well, lately I've been in a cookie mood. We're kind of broke, and I can
make lots of fresh cookies for very little money. The other night was
chocolate chip. Ping would come up to see what I was doing every few
minutes, hoping I was going to pull out some bell peppers. Those are
his favourite. I have to be very careful when I chop them, lest I
accidently chop off one of his feet or his inquisitive snout. He will
run *right* up onto the cutting board for bell peppers. And stand there
looking up at me like "Hey! I really like those! Can I have some?"
Bonehead.
My chocolate chip recipe doesn't call for bell peppers, so he was kind
of disapointed. He sniffed the butter, the sugar, the baking soda.
(That got a sneeze.) I got everything into the mixing bowl for my
wonderful KitchenAid mixer, and let 'er rip. Two minutes later I had
perfect batter. I was busy, and forgot all about Ping, who had by then
disappeared back down the dog's chair to whatever was interesting in
the rest of the house. I stirred in the last ingredient in by hand, a
bag of chocolate chips. Then I turned around to get out the baking
sheet.
BAM!
What the hey? The mixing bowl was on its side. I righted it. Must have
fallen over. Mumble to self. Turn back to the baking sheet and oven.
BAM!
This time I saw him, or I should say the south end of a north bound
weasel, motorin' down the back of the dog's armchair as fast as he
could move. The shiny metal mixing bowl of batter rocked back and forth
on its side on the top of the island.
Well, I stood there, my eyebrows scrunched together into a monobrow of
concentration and displeasure...my hands fisted on my hips. Flour on
the side of my nose. And slooowly...slooowwwly....the little Ping face
with dark brown mask (the dark brown bandit mask returned after the
last coat blow) appeared over the edge of the island, right where the
back of the dog's armchair was. Two little Ping paws appeared on the
island. He made his neck long, the way ferrets do, and the whole time
he's sniffing sniffing sniffing the way ferrets do. His whole belly
flutters like a set of weasel bellows.
And....justthatfast....he zips two feet across the top of the island,
flips over the mixing bowl with a single paw, (BAM!) sticks his head
inside, and runs away as fast as he can with a chocolate chip in his
mouth.
The shiny metal mixing bowl rocks back and forth on top of the island.
And I think to myself...."I'm living with Furry Emeril. BAM! BAM! BAM!
Furry little Emeril on my cutting board, begging for bell peppers. Next
I'm going to find him slipping chipotle into my Beanie Weenie to give
it that BAM!"
And sure enought, that little face with the bandit mask appeared once
more at the edge of the island, nose twitching. He looked at the mixing
bowl, he looked at me. He looked at the mixing bowl. I righted it onto
its base. And ....justthatfast.....BAM!
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML 5676]
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