Dear Ferret Folks-

I am a bit winded from doing my own personal War Dance. It was a dance
of pure joy and satisfaction, of achievement differed but finally
realized. You see, I *found* it. I found the mother lode.

I knew where Ping and Puma chose to do their business. I knew their
favourite corners, their favored backin' up places. It was a very sad
day a few weeks ago when I went around the house, making sure that all
their fertilizer was disposed of, once and for all. It was like saying
goodbye all over again. It was certainly the first time I ever teared
up over dookie. It reminded me of when my grandmother died and we were
going through all her drawers and personal effects. Places we didn't
feel like we belonged. We found little notes she'd jotted to herself
that made no sense to us and never would. Dainty handkerchiefs tucked
away here and there. Coin purses. Embroidered glasses cases. Worn decks
of playing cards. Crumpled packs of the cigarettes that killed her. It
was a melancholy exercise, and so was cleaning up my lost friend's
dookie. It was very...final. I tossed the few dried tootsies into my
herb garden. Goodbye, again.

And when Todd and Hebert came, I had to learn their habits. Where were
they pooping? They are remarkably good about pooping in the cage, but a
ferret is a ferret. They like their own little private spots. So I had
to start looking. I've been looking behind book cases, beneath dark
pieces of furniture, in remote corners that don't get much hoomin
traffic. And I didn't find much of anything, except the occasional
purloined sock.

Hebert likes to stand in the middle of the kitchen floor and cut loose,
something that horrifies my husband. Me, I much prefer that open,
forthright approach. It means he isn't hoarding it somewhere. They
tried using the bathroom floor for a while, and I put a stop to that.
I'd wipe up and spray Lysol. Apparently they can't *bear* the scent of
Lysol. As long as I re-apply about once a week they stay clear of the
spot. Although I do see their point. It is, after all, a *bathroom*. It
wasn't an unreasonable choice of location. They tried the hearth in
front of the fireplace, too. It took me a bit to catch on, among the
camoflaging litter of bark chips and ashes. Gotcha! More Lysol, once
a week. No more dookie.

So where were they hiding it? Today, after making a complete idiot out
of myself by crawling the perimeter of my house on my hands and knees,
(again, I do this when my husband is not around to see me) I found
it, the Holy Grail. The place where someone has been making regular
deposits over a long period of time, in secret. Think protected Swiss
Bank Account. The little pile was behind an antique radio in a very
dark little cul de sac.

HA! Sucks to be you, weasel!

I tossed all those tootsies in the herb garden, too. I scrubbed the
floor, sprayed the Lysol. I will be keeping my eye on that spot. I
*knew* there had to be one, I just had to keep looking. Of course
now... another spot will have to be found. I haven't solved the
problem, merely changed the parameters. But I am patient, and vigilant.
And I have *more* Lysol.

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6147]