I am up early at my house. I loved getting up and having the house to
myself for a few hours, even though I don't get to do that as much now.
My guys liked it too, with me letting them out early in the morning
shortly after I got up. I had a ritual of getting them fresh water
in their water bowl (which they needed - how it got so disgusting, I
have no idea) and fresh food in the food bowl (which they don't need,
because it's the same stuff they throw in their water to make it
disgusting). It got to the point that they expected to be let out at an
obscenely early time each and every morning. But it was me and them,
and whattaya gonna do, let 'em sit there?

They would hear me get up and be instantly awake. As I stumbled past
them to the bathroom I would pass a wall of weasels looking at me, each
one waiting for me to open the cage door. Hey, can I... uh, ya know,
give me a minute? Scooter is one of my older guys, although I don't
really know how old he is. He isn't solid muscle like the others,
having previous health problems, and does not move as easily as the
others. I have other, older guys too - Jackson and Rascal, but it is
Scooter who is standing on his back feet waiting for the cage door to
open and the ramp to come up. And even before I hook the ramp to the
side, he is walking down it, ready or not. Geez, can't you wait till
I hook the damn thing, you crazy weasel? He has sometimes even jumped
seven or so inches from the bottom of the cage to the floor, snubbing
my efforts to get the ramp attached quickly enough. But he is always,
and I mean out of *all* of them, *always* the first one out. I get it.
I am a man of ritual, myself, being the first one up. It makes me smile
and feel good somehow. I tell myself (without any logic really attached
to it) that if Scooter's the first one out, everything is going to be
OK. He's happy, he's healthy, it's gotta be a good day. It is usually
my first smile.

Roscoe and Stewart are two youngsters we got from someone who
couldn't/didn't/wouldn't take-your-pick-story-of-your-own-creation.
I don't even want to think about it. Twittering with lots of people
trying to save animals, and hearing first-hand the reasons people give
for surrendering their animals, has made me a little less tolerant. I
never really asked my wife what the story was, as I was reluctant to
take them in as we already had nine. But they were here, and like I
said before - whattaya gonna do? And, to my blessing, they have been
the joy of my mornings.

These two were little fat boys when they first arrived. Roscoe was
huge, and often (what do I mean, "often?") *always* slept on his back
because he was so big. Stewart had his baby fat, too, but not like
Roscoe. Roscoe cracked me up one time when he crawled up on a pillow on
a shelf that was completely out in the open (not like weasels usually
sleep), again sleeping on his back. The way he was just laying there,
arms folded - King Roscoe asleep on his throne. That was a nice wide
smile that morning, I think even a chuckle or two.

But it is both Stewie and Roscoe who make me laugh out loud. And cuss
out loud, sometimes. I have to remember to close the door to my room.
I usually have water or coffee or something left from the night before
sitting on my table next to my chair. The Chair. If I forget and get
them water (or myself coffee) without closing the door - it is
inevitable. I will remember too late and rush to the door to see the
flash-flooding of the invisible arroyo that runs underneath my chair.
Why do I leave my drink there at all, you wonder? I have to keep my
door closed because Stewie has found his only purpose in life - to
get underneath my chair and tear out it's bottom. I don't care about
the chair, but I'm worried the fibers he could ingest could give him
a blockage, and the little bugger just won't stop. So I keep my door
closed. Leaving *my* drink on *my* table shouldn't be a problem for me.
Stupid hoomin. Getting through that door to The Chair is all Stewie
lives for. Whattaya think they mean when they say "ferreted out?"

I try to run it out of him. Roscoe and Stewie love to play, and play
longer than any of the others do, if the others play at all. Sometimes
I wardance with them. I will run up on them while they are backing up,
then stop. Roscoe likes to take off when I do that, but Stewie sees it
as his challenge, and even though I'm taller than he can jump, he jumps
at me anyways. I will spin around him (watching my feet) and he will
spin with me. Meanwhile, Roscoe will sneak up behind and attack, and we
will all wardance together. I find myself laughing out loud, giggling
like a kid... no one up, mind you, just me and them. It is usually the
second smile of my morning. Eventually we will tire of this game (OK,
they don't tire of it...) and one of us will concede just so he can
make himself coffee and sit down. Behind the closed door. In The Chair.

I have to close my door the whole way now, even though if I just nudge
it closed they don't have the strength to push it open. But they don't
know that. Or they pretend they don't know that. An open door of any
kind is an opportunity. And they will stand on their hind legs and dig
at the wood. Or they will dig at the carpet (which is *already* shot to
heck), but they will dig until they see me completely close the door
the entire way. Somehow, that's a signal for them to give up. And being
the wiley creatures they are, they *act* like they're giving up and
abandon the door, usually to go wardance on top of the missus who's
still in bed trying to sleep (lazy thing). That's usually my third
chuckle of the morning. "I'm sorry honey, I forgot to close your door."
Yeah, sure I did. "Hey, I made coffee, whattaya want?"..

And I will be standing in the living room - bedroom containing an
aggravated missus on one end, my room on the other - and it will go
silent. Most of them will have either eaten or wardanced themselves
into a slumber and found a place to nap, but not all of them... Stewie
runs reconnaissance under the TV by my door, quietly waiting for it to
open so he can get to The Chair. He thinks I don't see him, but I do.
It's either that, or he really doesn't care if I see him or not. That's
probably closer to the truth. But he will wait for me to come by, nose
sticking out from under the TV, and try to rush the door. I can for
the most part beat him in a rush, although sometimes he slips in. Damn
weasel, you know I'm just going to pick you up, put you outside the
door, and that's that. Why do you even try? Well, listen to me scolding
a ferret for being persistent. I'm a genius.

But Stewie is the embodiment of the word "persistent." He will continue
his reconnaissance until I am not paying attention and I unwittingly
leave the door open. He is *good*. Sometimes the first sign I have
that he's infiltrated my room is to feel a poking at my backside
from underneath the chair. I couldn't ignore it if I wanted to. You
pain-in-the-butt, why do you do this? You must know that I can feel
you poking me, right? OK, so you're not a genius, either...

Just as I'd gotten comfortable with a coffee at my side, I have to get
*up* out of the chair, tilt the chair on it's front legs, slide it
forward, and retrieve the invader. And it's always the same - always
a surprise to him. As I lift the chair up, I find him crouched as if
he were still lowering himself to fit under the chair. You or I would
realize that we were caught and stand up, but he just stays crouched,
feet splayed, surprised as I would be if God were to lift up the sky
like a blanket, look down on me, and pick me up. And even though this
has happened a hundred times, he is always just as surprised.

So I take him to the living room and give him the obligatory toss onto
the couch. This is his reset button. Immediately upon landing on the
couch, he does a short wardance (I think just to mock me), climbs to
the top of the couch, looks back, dives over, and slinks down - usually
not to be seen again until I lift up The Chair. And we do this over
and over again. This is our routine - fresh water, kibble, coffee,
wardancing, and The Chair. I could go do something else in the morning,
I suppose, but I'm kinda happy the way it is. Just like Scooter needs
to be first one out of the cage in the morning, I need my smiles and my
giggles. I need Roscoe's professionally improvised comic relief. But
most of all, I need what Stewie gives me.

Some would describe Stewie's nature as determined and tenacious, and
they would be quite right in their description of this second cousin to
the wolverine. Or one could describe him as persistent and stubborn,
but those are not the exact words I would use. There is another, better
word that describes what goes on in our early morning battle for The
Chair. It is what we all look for, without knowing that we're looking
for it, sometimes...

Hope.

Roary talk to me: http://twitter.com/hoomin/
writings: http://hoomin.blogspot.com/
my music: http://www.garageband.com/artist/hoomin
location: Rio Rancho, NM

[Posted in FML 6348]