Because so many emailed for a happier ended I wrote this just for you
all.

[2 part port combined.]

My Name is FERRET, Closure at Last

The silvery little girl slid carefully around the corners of the
rambling, old house. Vigilantly lifting her nose, she cautiously
sniffed the sultry summer air. Her nose filled with all manners of
things: the tangy yet bitterly sweet smell of fruit left too long on
the ground, the smell of fresh turned dirt as the moles worked it from
underneath, the dirty bird smell of old, abandoned bird nests hidden
carefully underneath the scraggly bushes and the nose tickling smell
of fresh green grass that grew lushly beneath her feet. So many, many
inviting smells yet nothing that smelt of recent human activities. Her
twitching nose quickly found the ancient smell of humans that had lived
and loved here so many years before, but her keen senses told her that
it had indeed been many, many years since human feet had passed this
way. In fact, by the dilapidated almost lifeless look of the old house,
she was willing to bet that no one have lived here in a VERY, VERY long
time. The dreary colorless house looked to have been left alone so long
that even the rats have abandoned it for some place that offered more
that just leftover memories. Looking around Dancer could still see the
beauty of what once had to have been an almost palace-like showplace.
Her eyes took in the wild, riotous colors of the flowers that grew with
much gleeful abandonment in the stone encased garden behind the house.
The sad, sagging porch still had a pillar or two that stood a proud
and silent sentry duty, looking as though they stood vigil hopefully
waiting for their owners to come home. The huge double doors hewn of
the finest woods that money would have bought back then, stood ajar and
leaning almost impishly to one side. It was almost as though they had
purposely invited her to come and explore within. Dancer was weary and
tired of living life on the lamb and bone-deep tired of hunting for
shelter from the raging storms and snapping dogs. Dancer knew that she
needed a place to rest her weary, little head, she needed a calm and
quiet place in which to think great thoughts, and a place to build her
strength and repair her soul. She thought this place looked like a sad
old woman who was once beautiful but now just neglected and forgotten.
Maybe the house no longer had a family to live within its walls, a
family to help it come alive with laughter and joy but it would know
the sound of feet walking within once more. Even if the feet were
only tiny and fur covered, it would know once more that someone found
shelter within the comfort of its walls and maybe, just maybe it would
not look so sad after all.

Dancer flopped down upon her tiny paws and thought about humans and
their need to abandon or give away that which they professed to love.
She knew that while on the streets she had seen the homeless living
in squalor down under the railroad tracks, had they not once belonged
to someone? What about the stray dogs that snapped hungrily at her
heels, had they not also belonged to someone way back when? This once
beautiful house, now nothing but a shell of rotten wood too dilapidated
for even the rats to love it, had it not been abandoned by someone? And
herself, let¢s not forget about herself, the once cherished, pampered
pet of a family, now nothing more than a forgotten memory in their
minds, she supposed. All things that someone once thought important and
needed now all tossed or left behind like yesterdays¢ garbage. What
made humans toss away the very things they professed to love? What made
them behave that way? Dancer pondered these thoughts until her ebony
eyes grew weary and then she closed them and slept the sleep of the
innocent. Dancer slept for hours, the first real sleep that she had
allowed herself in months, for to have slept too deep or for too long
before could have cost her life. She slept well into the night and
awoke to the croaking of the tiny tree frogs as sang their serenading
songs into the night. She could hear crickets stroking their leg
violins each male promising a forever love to the cricket ladies
listening in the dark. If she listened close enough she could hear
the happy babble of a brook that crossed the bottom of the yard and
meandered gaily off to someplace further away. The night used to
frighten her something awful, but now she had learned to recognize the
sounds that were safe and friendly and those that meant certain harm
to those caught unaware.

Somewhere in the last few months, little Dancer had grown up and become
a creature of the night; she did indeed survive with her wits and her
cunning the perils of her own little world. She stiffened when she
heard the hoot of the owl, the one that watched hopefully from the old
apple tree, for a chance at a mole, a mouse, a tiny bird, or even a
ferret that forgot to be cautious when outdoors. But Dancer had seen
the owl swoop down on wings of windy speed with its claws out stretched
and bold as can be, as it snatched an unwary mouse from right in front
of her twitching nose. Remembering the poor mouse¢s last screams,
Dancer never forgot to look skyward ever again. Though Dancer hated to
admit it, but the poor mouse was destined to be someone¢s meal that
fateful night any way, if not the owl¢s, then Dancer¢s she supposed.
For Dancer had quickly learned the first law of survival, eat or be
eaten. And her growling stomach had taught her dainty appetite lessons
on surviving on things no self respecting house ferret would ever
consider food. But she learned to feast on the ripening and rotting
leftovers found behind homes and businesses, she learned to chase away
more timid animals from their gnawing on old bones and rotten road
kill. Her stomach still tossed a little when she first began to eat
that which often crawled with maggots and flies, but she learned to
hold her breath and dig in. She had learned that to hesitate in an
often starving place would mean the sure loss of her dinner that night,
to another animal not as prissy about how their food looked or smelled.

Kendra Lausman

[Part 2]

My Name is FERRET, Closure at Last

Dancer spent her days exploring every crook and cranny in the dusty old
house. Chuckling to herself she took a running start and would slide
belly first down the warped old stairs, landing at the end with a
thunk, then racing to the top to do it all over again. She searched out
every mouse hole squeezing in the tight little tunnels that ran from
floor to floor. She climbed into the laundry chute and slid down the
tubes all the way to the basement. She raced up the dusty stairs
sneezing as she flew on winged feet to do it once more. Other than be
a little lonely and not always totally well fed, Dancer felt that her
days were not too bad. The sad old house was a ferret's daydream, a
playground with sights and smells galore. And when evening began to
creep in, she would sit lazily on the porch, her face to the breeze as
it gently ruffled her fur and watched the twinkling neon, green tail
lights of the fireflies as they flitted about the yard--those brightly
dancing lights that seemed to be playing their own version of laser
tag among the tangled branches of the many trees growing there. But
sometimes when she laid there alone late at night, she dreamed of her
Lovey, Sweetie and Princess and wondered if they were happy and if they
ever found another little ferret to love? But as quickly as the thought
fluttered across her mind she would shake her tiny head and clear it
away. For she had found long ago that dwelling on those thoughts made
her feel melancholy and morose, so it was best just to shake them off
and move on.

Dancer's coat, no longer as plush and brushed as it used to be, now
sported burrs and pieces of sticks in the many places that her little
pink tongue could not reach to groom. And though her coat looked a
little dirty and ragged, and her body not as plump as it once was, her
muscles rippled underneath it all, as she moved. Muscles that made you
think of a carnivore, sleek and ripping. The hard work of locating
adequate food and then catching it kept those muscles and her body in
tiptop shape. Her eyes though sad, were often bright as they danced
with the mischief that is so innate in her species. She might not have
been a poster child from a ferret show, but she was a poster child for
survival and more beautiful because she carried herself with pride.

One day as Dancer lay on her back in the plush, soft grass lazily
watching the flittering butterflies twirling like brilliant
kaleidoscopes across the tangle of wild flowers in the garden, she
heard a faint sound, one that clearly did not belong here. She jumped
straight up as though she had been shot and raced across the lawn as
though the devil himself was in pursuit of her. Panting she ran, almost
flipping up the stairs and falling face first into the front room. She
raced behind the torn, ragged and dusty drapes that hung cockeyed from
the bent and broken rod at the huge front window and huddled there,
gasping for breath and shaking all over. But she slowly reared up on
her hind legs and placed her dainty paws on the dirty window ceil and
through slit eyes she peered carefully out, trying so very hard to see
and not be seen. She stood silent, whiskers twitching, nose wiggling
and body rigid--her body on full alert ready to take flight at the once
show of danger.

Listening intently, she heard tires crunching upon the gravel drive.
And then she saw them, a black, big, boxy vehicle driven by a dark
haired man and a low, sleek silver one driven by a blonde haired woman
with a small redheaded girl at her side. She watched as they stopped
just outside the door, engines off, doors slamming. The two adults
emerged from their vehicles and began to walk carefully up the cracked
and broken walk. The little girl with her feet almost bouncing raced
quickly ahead. She squealed with glee as she spied the gnarled, old oak
in the front yard. The tree had a huge heavy branch from which a frayed
and rotting rope swung and below it hung and a cracked old tire that
turned lazily in the breeze.

The woman said with a smile in her voice, "Ginger stay away from that
swing. It looks like it's old and rotten. And please slow down before
you break your neck."

"No problem momma, I just want to see Grandpa's house", chirped the
little girl. "I want to see the bedroom where you used to stay as a
little girl. And I want to see the old outhouse, and the attic, and the
fireplace. And the old stove where you said Grandma used to bake the
best cookies in the whole world." = The woman smiled and then turned to
the dark man in the dark suit and said, "Mr. Peters do you really think
that we can turn the old house into something that we can live in? I
know my grandfather left me some money as well as this old house, but
do you think it will be enough to get it livable again?"

Mr. Peters turned and said, "I think it will take a lot of hard work
and money, but I know that your grandparents always dreamed that
someone in the family would return here to live one day. And you and
Ginger are the last of your line. So I guess it is now or never and
Mari, with your company downsizing and the loss of your job, what
better time than now, to try something new? Anyway, the fresh air
and sunshine would be just the thing the doctor ordered for Ginger's
health. I honestly think this whole situation could not come at a
better time for you both."

Ginger was still running around in circles trying hard to see in
windows to what lay inside. "Oh, momma isn't it beautiful? Does it
look like it will be the grandest place in the world when we get
done?" squealed Ginger..

Mari sighed and said, "Well Ginger it will be a lot of work and we will
be roughing it as they work around us here, are you game for it?"

"Momma are you kidding? This is a dream come true, a huge house, land
and even a creek and the only thing left, is well you know? You
promised me a pet when we moved from the apartment. And I can not wait.
"Ginger laughed in that delightful way that children have when they
are truly happy.

Truthfully Mari knew that she would give Ginger anything she asked for,
after almost loosing her to cancer. Anything that would take her mind
away from the last three years and the battle, the chemo, the pain and
the fears.. Anything that made her little girl laugh with childlike
innocence was A, ok by her.

Ginger had continued to explore as her mother and Mr. Peters talked.
Dancer, still hiding behind the torn drapes, stood poised to flee
if they got too close. But the musical laughter coming from Ginger
reminded Dancer of her lost Princess, and she could not run. She just
stood as though in a trance and watched the little girl as she skipped
across the floor. Then Ginger spied the tiny ferret huddled there,
huge, frightened eyes watching her. Ginger began to coo to the little
ferret, soft, soft words of things that touched memories deep within
Dancer. Words that spoke with accents of gentle and kind love, words
that promised no pain, only gentle hands and gentle love. Dancer wanted
to run, but the green eyes held her pinned to the spot. And when Ginger
dropped to her knees and offered her hands for Dancer to smell, Dancer
timidly approached to smell them and then rolled upon her back for a
tickle and a scratch. Ginger, giggling, did as the little imp wished,
and it was only minutes until the two were snuggling and playing like
old friends.

Upon entering the room Mari felt her heart flutter as she wondered what
was the dirty little creature her daughter held in her lap, but when
she saw the look of pure rapture upon her face, Mari just stood and
watched. Upon closer inspection Mari recognized the rag tag little
thing as a ferret and not a terribly old one at that. She continued to
watch the two and realized that the two had already formed some kind
of bond, something only animals and children seem to understand. That
love knows no color, no race, no species, no boundaries, that love
just is. It exists without reason, without plans and it exists against
all reasonable expectations of sanity. As Mari stood quietly and just
watched, she recognized that a trip to the vet and then the pet store
would be in order, or it appeared that they would be adding a new
member to the family a little sooner than she had anticipated.. Mari
turned and asked Ginger what she planned to name the little ferret.
Ginger seemed to be mulling that over when Dancer began to dook and
dance her way across the floor inviting her new friends to play tag.
Ginger smiled and said, "I think she just told us what her name is,
for isn't she the finest dancer that you have ever seen? I think her
name will be Dancer." So Dancer it became, and the label FERRET was
just that, a label and not a name, anymore.

By Kendra B. Lausman
(c) 01/05/2009

[Posted in FML 6207]