It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Stella, my great
friend.  She died peacefully in my arms early Friday morning.  She was 7
years old and half-sister to Moose, who died a few months ago.
 
Stella starting showing adrenal problems about a year ago.  During surgery,
a small ovarian fragment was discovered, and it was removed along with the
adrenals.  At that time, it looked as if Stella would recover fully, but
she was never the same afterwards.  Not long ago, it was painfully obvious
that Stella was ailing.  She lost all her fur except for a small patch on
the top of her head.  An xray showed cancer had started growing in her
lungs and her liver function tests showed she probably had liver
involvement as well.  I decided that she would be allowed to live the
remander of her life with dignity and in as little pain as possible.  No
further surgery was performed, and medical treatment was allowed only for
comfort.  She had gone through enough already.  Enough was enough.
 
Stella loved me.  When I had my first surgery, she stopped eating, and
was sick for the only time other than this final illness.  During another
surgery, Stella snuck past the nursing guards to give me a little visit
while I was still in the hospital, startling a nurse who thought she was
a rat.  Later, Stella would sneak into my baggy shorts, startling me and
making me jump off the couch, which startled her into biting my inner thigh
very close to a place you would not want to have damaged.  She knew her
name and would trot over when it was called.  She could roll over for
raisins, stand on her hind feet and beg like a dog, and would fetch wiffle
golf balls.  Every day, she would come over and put her little head on the
toe of my shoe to invite me to pick her up.  She could sleep on my lap for
hours and LOVED having her ears scratched.
 
Of all my ferrets, Stella was my favorite.  I know I shouldn't have a
favorite, but she was anyway.  I adored bragging how ugly she was, that she
would take last place in an one-ferret beauty show.  I would point at the
round spots where her mask should have been and giggle at her freckles.
Stella was always a little pump, and I would call her my furry football.  I
would scratch her belly until she war danced, and would feed her raisins
from my lips.  The inside pocket of my winter jacket was hers.  She was the
first to greet me each day and the last at night.  She was my friend.
 
Stella was the reason I am personally against ferret shows.  She was the
best ferret I ever met, yet she would have never won a ribbon or taken home
a trophy.  As far as ferret beauty standards go, she did not meet them.
She was a cull.  Yet, Stella had great personality, was sweet and loving,
and never bit anyone who didn't deserve it.  She was smarter than most
ferrets I ever met.  Stella was a blue-ribbon ferret in an "also-ran" body.
She was absolutely perfect.  The fact that she would have lost in a ferret
show dispite her superior qualities is a clear indication of how unfair
they are.
 
My all-time favorite quote is from Moliere: "Things are only worth what you
make them worth." Stella was priceless.
 
Goodbye Stella.  I shall miss your butt ugly face and your cold little
nose.  Goodbye my sweet little girl.  I miss you.
 
Bob C an 19 MO' Broken-Hearted Ferrets
[Posted in FML issue 2850]