Dear Ferret Folks-

I made a strategic error by not thinking things through. What *was* I
thinking? Was I thinking AT ALL? I have had ferrets for a decade, and
have no excuse to offer. None at all.

I have been fighting to lose the same danged ten pounds for ages now. I
got rid of most of them, then my doctor put me on a drug that put them
all back on. And a few extra, just for fun. While the first thing you'd
think is probably not "CHUNKER!" if you saw me walking down the street,
I think "CHUNKER!" every time I see my reflection. I am currently in
that nebulous land of elastic waistbands. My jeans sit unloved, folded
on a shelf. I don't even try to put them on. The seams would probably
rip with a sound like "CHUNKER!" the first time I bent over.

I needed something yummy to snack on that didn't have much dietary
lard in it. Cereal is one of my favourites. I really like bran flakes,
especially because my husband won't eat them, so they are there in the
box when I want them. They don't have a lot of calories. I buy the kind
without raisins because the ones that come in the box are awful, dry
little brown BB's that would probably make good ammunition, but a poor
snack. So I bought my own cardboard tub of fresh, chewy raisins and add
a handful to every bowl of flakes.

Mmmmm....yummy crunchy and sweet. I like a bowl in the evening. It's
preferable to eating anything else at that time of night. I'm not
above, say, making a pie from scratch at ten o'clock at night just
because I have a craving. Flakes are a much better option.

You know where this is going, don't you. Two healthy male ferrets.
Strong. Agile. In the prime of youth and health.

Raisins. Sweet, plump chewy raisins. Cold milk.

Have you ever seen the movie Night of the Living Dead? Saw it again a
few days ago when the cable was running lots of Halloween movies. My
six year old nephew realized it was on while we were channel surfing
and *begged* to be allowed to watch it. Simply summarized, there are
some people trapped in an old farmhouse surrounded by flesh-eating
zombies that want to consume them. The zombies win, for most of the
movie.

My sister told her son that he was NOT allowed to watch it because he
would have nightmares. So he of course wanted to see it more than
anything else. I know this kid. He is not afraid of what he can see, he
is afraid of what he can *imagine.* Invisible American Indian forest
demons called "wendigos" worry him because he can't see them. He is
fine with flesh eating zombies. You can see them coming, and run away.
They hate fire, and if you shoot them in the head they drop and don't
get up again. No problem. The kid was delighted to watch the movie, and
slept like a rock. He only asked about wendigos once or twice at
bedtime, because I live in a forest. He was just fine with the zombies.

Well, imagine me sitting down with a nice bowl of cold milk and crunchy
bran flakes dotted with plump, juicy raisins. Todd climbed up my leg
first to try to get to the raisins. I kicked him off my shin, gently.
He returned. This time he climbed up the chair's upholstery. I picked
him up and gently deposited him on the floor, and continued to munch.
Then he ran and told Caff-Pow "She's got a whole BOWL full of freakin'
raisins!" and Caff-Pow came running. Four pounds of healthy male ferret
at the peak of physicality galloped up my leg.

Dang! That smarts. I spilled a little of the milk. I tossed him back
onto the floor. Todd attacked from one side, then, and Caff-Pow from
the other. Now I had *six* pounds total of healthy young male ferret at
the peak of physicality going for my raisins. I was trying to toss them
off, while not spilling the milk. Bang! hit from the right. Bang! Hit
from the left. They crawled up the chair, up my legs, they leapet up
from the floor like springs and landed in my lap. When I was dealing
with one, the other attacked. I was simply overwhelmed!

And while this was happening, a scene from Night of the Living Dead
flashed through my mind. The scene where the flesh-eating zombies were
pouring through the windows of the old farmhouse, after breaching the
hastily assembled defenses hammered up by Our Heroes. Imagine dozens of
clawed zombie hands, straining to grab our tasty human Heroes. Our
Heroes fight, but most of them are dragged away to be eaten.

I was being attacked by zombies. Raisin zombies. I was going to be
overwhelmed, dragged away and stashed. The raisin zombies would them
methodically devour the raisins from my upended bowl of cereal. My
husband would find my lifeless body protruding from beneath the sofa
in the morning. And a drying puddle of milk on the floor, a shattered
china bowl,and a litter of limp bran flakes.

I finally stood and fled with my bowl of cereal, to my bedroom. I
slammed the door shut behind me and heard the THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! of
the weasel zombies throwing themselves against the door, the insistent
SCRITCHSCRITCHSCRITCH of their claws against the wood. The door rattled
in its frame...And I had no cellar to retreat to, no handy shotgun, or
flaming torch to drive them back!

The horror, the horror!

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6507]