This is the story of a little white fuzzy named Thelma.  (Yes, her sister's
name is Louise, but this is Thelma's story).  I rescued both of them 3.5
years ago from a pretty neglectful owner, naturally, knowing nothing about
them!  Isn't that usually how this happens?  Anyway, I digress ... Thelma
and Louise were very happy together for a year and then one day Louise went
in for surgery.  (Turned out she wasn't descented ... ooops!  - who would
have known?)  The next day when I brought Louise back, Thelma wouldn't let
her in the cage.  (Some of you old-timers may remember my posts of pleas
and wishes on trying to get these two sisters to love each other again ...
never worked).  Thelma never accepted Louise or any other ferret into her
life again.  But boy oh boy, did she lavish up the attention I gave her.
Feeling sorry for her because she was always alone, she always got extra
play time, and more cuddles, and more treats, hugs and kisses.  A couple
of months later, Thelma displayed symptoms of adrenal cancer.  Off to the
vet, who operated, but to no avail.  (Old timers will once again probably
remember this ...).  To make a long story short, Thelma was operated on
twice for adrenal cancer, and they never found anything wrong.  Over the
months she became bald, and a little skinnier, but she never lost her
attitude or her joie de vivre.  She was the spunkiest, most adorable fuzzy
I have ever encountered.  For two years, she remained 90% bald - fur on her
paws, head and a little on her tail.  Last winter she got a little more fur
on her bum and down the middle of her back - she then earned the
appropriate nickname - Mohawk chick.  I swear she loved it.
 
One of the best things about Thelma was that she dooked constantly when she
was out of her enclosure.  From the minute she was awake until you put her
back to bed, she was always dooking.  Her favourite toys were rubber balls,
and rubber rings, and the cat's tails.  (I have two cats also).
 
She was also the cleanest fuzzy, never, ever making a mess of her bedroom.
It was always super clean, no litter or food spilled anywhere.  What a joy
it was to clean up after her (as opposed to my other four who wreak havoc
in 15 minutes).
 
Her favourite games included chasing me up and down the long hallway (made
of hardwood floors) and sliding around the corners, banging into walls.
She loved to nip toes and ankles - barefoot or not, didn't matter.  Many a
times I lost my contact in the sink while trying to put them in - and -
chomp - on the ankle.  I swear she waited for the moment when my finger
was almost at my eye!
 
I could go on and on and on and on, but I am at work, and the tears are
already streaming down my cheeks.  On Sunday morning, I got up and Thelma
was hardly moving, she was still breathing, though laboured.  I picked her
up and she was cool to the touch, and her eyes just looked at me.  I put
her in my sweatshirt, called my friend to get me, and raced to the vet.  My
darling, sweet little girl died in my arms on the way.  I found out that
the adrenal cancer had progressed again, and her liver had ruptured.
Thankfully, she died in my arms, knowing that her mom loved her beyond
belief.
 
Please say a little prayer for my Thelma, she has no friends on the other
side of the bridge.  I hope she can learn to make new ones, because she
certainly didn't like them here on earth.
 
Marion
[Posted in FML issue 2826]