Dear Ferret Folks-

Last night Ping is He and Puma had the run of the house, and I realized
that it was too quiet. Much too quiet. I walked into the darkened
computer room and I could tell just from the way he was standing that
Ping was Up To Something. He has a special way of standing over
something that he doesn't want me to see, so of course I wanted very
badly to see what it was. He had something in his fangs that felt like
a camera's memory chip, a little tile. I picked Ping up, and the tile
came up in his fangs with him. I held him up to my face in the darkness
and he gave me that *look*, the one that says simultaneously "I'm
really charming!" and "I don't give a tinker's damn what you want,
but I'm cool with that !"

I hate that look.

I pulled the little tile from his mouth and felt it. The edges were
rounded. It was dimpled with fang holes like braille. I reached out
and flipped the light switch with one knuckle of the hand holding the
tile, and all was revealed. About a week ago Ocean State Job Lot, an
extraordinary vendor of trash and treasure here in the New England
region had had *treasure* on sale. 70% Cocoa dark chocolate Lindt bars,
big ones, for a dollar. I bought five. I even shared with my friends
the other night at a party. (This will probably never happen again,
and might very well be a sign of the dreaded End Times.)

But I had never intended to share with Ping. He helped himself,
somehow, to the one ounce slab of dark chocolate I had had to pry out
of his face with some force. Where did he get it? I don't know. But
he doesn't have it anymore. Did he sulk? You bet. He deflated like a
balloon and just hung there in my grip. Then he gave me that other look
I hate. The one that has little shiny wounded eyes that look they are
about to overflow with tears that says "You don't love me. Admit it!"

By now Puma had walked into the room, quietly, and stood at my feet,
just watching. She knew she had missed something good, but she didn't
know what it was, and that makes her cross. Puma likes to be in the
loop. So I held the little tile of chocolate down to her and she made a
face like "BLEAHH!" and backed away, her tail puffing. Puma doesn't do
chocolate, although I can only imagine it would help her disposition.
Coffee. Cigarettes. That ferret needs*something*.

So there I was, holding Ping. With his waxy, 70% dark cocoa fangs. He
was licking his teeth. I put him down, gently, and he followed me all
over the house for the next five minutes, hoping in vain that I would
relent, (NOT!) and give him back his one ounce tile of dark chocolate.
He was so miserable he actually put *himself* back in his cage. Now
that's serious protest!

(No, I didn't eat the chocolate.)

Alexandra in Ma

[Posted in FML 5708]