Dear Ferret Folks-

Some of you have been remarking to me in personal correspondence that
Todd is, quote, "the good ferret." Good, in contrast to Caff-Pow who is
bigger, stronger, faster, and often shows a more pronounced low-animal
cunning. It is true that I generally write here about Caff-Pow rather
than Todd. But don't sell Todd short. He is first and foremost a
ferret, and due his proper respect for that alone. Yes, he weighs maybe
half of what Caff-Pow does, so he doesn't knock the same things down.
He can't land Caff-Pow's leaps. (Thank the Lord!) In general, he does
not exhibit Caff-Pow's dogged determination to do truly *boneheaded*
things, regardless of the consequences.

But Todd is a ferret...and a ferret is not to be taken lightly.

This morning I woke up to discover that my husband was in the back yard
with our friend Glenn, chatting. Ahh...no problem. Glenn is a nice
fellow, even if he is not an animal person. He's a tractor guy. He and
my hubby were looking at my hubby's collection of apparently destroyed
internal combustion machines. Cash for Clunkers has *not* made it to my
back yard.

As I poured myself that all-important first cup of coffee I noticed
that the back door was tightly closed. That was unusual during a hot
summer's day. I had a sparkle of intuition...I went to the boy's cage
and I only saw ONE boy, Todd. Who sat up in the top hammie daintily on
one hip and gave me his very best innocent expression. The sparkle of
intuition burst into a bright, full-fledged bonfire. We keep the back
door closed when the ferrets are out of the cage. Where was Caff-Pow?

I looked out the back door and saw the blue-green sea monster squeakie
on the back deck. Oh, *RAP! Then I knew that not only was Caff-Pow
*out* of the cage, he was *out* of the house. The hubby had been trying
to squeak him out from beneath the house. That's a great idea, if you
have a ferret with the all-important squeakie gene. Caff-Pow, being a
DeVore ferret, has no squeakie gene.

I opened the back door, thinking "Well, if he is out there he might
come in on his own, but not if all the doors to the house are closed
against him." I left it wedged open and I called to my husband "Where
is Caff-Pow?" He turned from his conversation with Glenn and answered
laconically "Oh, he's been under the house for about an hour now. He'll
come out when he's ready." A small, feral piece of my primate ancestry
that kicked butt on the African Savannah about a million years ago came
back to life. Somewhere, a herd of antelope in Kenya felt the psychic
vibrations from thousands of miles away and burst from the bush, hooves
thundering.

I snarled
"Wellifhe'sbeenoutforanhourwhyhaven'tyoubeentryingtocatchhimforanhour?"
and my husband visibly paled. Obviously, the wife's Defcon status was
redlining. You betcha. I turned to collect another useless squeakie
from the computer room when in bounded Caff-Pow, looking all happy and
mellow.

GOTCHA!!!

One weasel, caught.

My hubby ventured a bit closer (no fast moves, don't spook the wife)
and said "Todd let him out of the cage about three times. I had no
idea how it was happening at first, and that I needed to keep the back
door shut. You'll see how I've bent the cage door bars to make them
tighter."

I lowered my eyelids in a look of languid disbelief. It is one of my
more dangerous expressions.

"*Todd* let Caff-Pow out?"

"Yeah. He figured out that if he grabbed the top bar in his teeth and
hung from it while kicking the door, it would un-latch on its own. He
did it over and over."

I walked back to the cage and examined the little barred doors. I could
see where the paint had been scratched by fangage. Well, what do you
know...If you bend that top bar juuuust enough, the latch does loosen
up...I'm sure that the first time it was an accident, but after that it
was purely deliberate. Todd, you devil, you. The "good ferret" indeed.
Still sitting prettily on that one hip, wearing an innocent look
beneath that dark nose stripe. Todd doesn't *like* leaving the house,
but how much fun it must have been to let Caff-Pow out, over and over
and over...He watched me shake all of the little barred cage doors,
seeing how my husband had latched all of them against a higher bar to
snug them up. His innocent look (complete with preternaturally long,
dark eyelashes like a Barbie doll) never slipped. He never came out of
character.

The "good ferret", indeed...

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6434]