Four months ago a little man came to us as a foster.  He was partially
balding in the rear end, but spry and lively.  His age was approximated
to be at about 5.5 years.  He had a funny little blaze on the top of his
head.  He was to be my little Squeegemeister, my main man, my
bossy-take-no-sh*t-ferret.  He was my special little guy.  He stole my
heart the day he arrived.
 
A week after he was with us, Squeegie went in for exploratory adrenal
surgery, but the vet found him full of tumors and internal bleeding.
Through what I consider now a wonderful act of fate, I was allowed to make
a decision of life or death.  And although the vet recommended that he be
euthanized then and there, I knew in my heart that it was not his time to
go yet.  So I ended up buying him some time, how long was anybody's guess,
but my heart hoped it would be forever.
 
A month ago, a virus or something, passed through my group and Squeegie got
it too.  I feared for his little body as I knew not how this sickness would
affect his tender condition.  He ended up fairing initially very well while
one of my others almost died.  Little Bear survived and the green poop went
away after a month.  All seemed well.
 
Squeegie became a spokesperson with all my friends... if they never had a
good experience with a ferret before or never even wanted a ferret before,
they wanted one after they received his welcoming, and now famous, ear
kisses.  All the women swore it was better than sex.  The men would just
smile.  Everyone wanted him, my special little guy.
 
The two hardest days that I had with Squeegie were the day I found out he
had a belly full of tumors, and the day I had to euthanize him.  I knew
from that first day I received the bad news that Squeegie didn't have much
time.  But each day became a blessing that he greeted me with his ear
kisses, and each night a joy with bedtime kisses and deep digging at my
legs that I was sure would draw blood, but didn't.
 
Last week the signs of his illness started to show: runny poops, weakness,
lots of sleeping, going off his food and having to be be force fed.  But
this little man showed also continued strength of taking 14 stairs without
pausing, and still wanted to be boss of the cats and the other ferrets.
Yesterday, he fell over taking a poop and my heart sank.  He wobbled back
to bed and then I knew.  I didn't want to let go but I knew I had to.  He
had gained four months and I felt so guilty for taking his life.  I felt
anger at his former owner who hadn't the decency to given him a real home.
I felt beaten for not being able to make him live forever.  He was my
Squeegie - my special little guy.
 
[Posted in 2 parts which I combined into 1 here.  BIG]
I had sewed a little sleepy sack that would end up carrying his body home
from the vet.  I didn't really know that it would serve that purpose until
I saw how much he liked it two weeks before.  It was pink but he wasn't
that macho that color mattered.
 
We watched the clock all day while he slept... his poor little body showing
the little lumps that invaded him.  It was hard not to look at the clock...
Six hours of life left, then four, then three... it was hard, so very hard.
We cried all day and took turns checking on him, not wanting to disturb
him, watching him sleep, watching the fall and rise of his chest, carefully
outlining every detail of his face and trying to grasp every last moment of
him to be stored in our memory banks.  The clock pressed on and time did
not, would not stop.  Finally I washed my face and resigned myself to the
fate I had given him.
 
My husband held him while I drove.  He stroked and kissed his little head
while allowing him to look out of the window.  He was crying too.  I found
myself driving in the slow lane, wanting to be late for this appointment.
Wanting and watching for a sign that told me to turn around and go back -
that today was not his day to go.  But no sign came.  Traffic, although in
rush hour, seemed to go too smoothly and quickly.  Inside I cursed God for
making me do this horrible thing, but knowing that it was the only gift I
had to give him.  I needed to give Squeegie back his life.
 
While we waited we watched Squeegie, who became energetic and suddenly
curious.  At one point he backed himself into a corner and his tail did the
wag thing against the wall.  My husband didn't see it but I know I did.  He
wandered over to another part of the room, equidistance between me and my
husband and then he stopped and looked at us... with his head cocked
slightly to one side like he always did.  I burst into tears.  I had
doubts now I was doing the right thing.  It's funny what goes through
your mind when you become desperate not to face the inevitable.
 
The vet took us back to a room where Squeegie was given a gas that put him
to sleep so that he would not feel the final needle.  The needle went into
his heart and then it was over.  Our beloved little special guy was gone
and our hearts went with him.  I cried again and asked the vet if I had
done the right thing.  He assured me that we had and calmly told us what
was happening to his body.  It was for the best but it was still so hard to
take.  We have had to do this many times.  It does not get easier.  Each
one is just as painful and just as hard.  We placed him back into his
sleepy sack and went home to bury him in a special place.
 
I have a weird sense of calm and peace in knowing that Squeegie is running
somewhere, bossing and bullying other ferrets, showing them who is the new
kid in town; that he is fully furred, and fat and sassy; that he is free of
his disease and free of any of the pain that I may have made him endure.
But my heart is so filled with sadness at the thought of him no longer
giving me ear kisses and seeing his little head tilt slightly sideways.  He
always made me laugh and he constantly surprised me.  He was my special
little guy.  I will miss him greatly... and so will my husband.
 
I do not regret for a moment adopting him, fully knowing that he was going
to die one day.  We have been blessed with having him around for as long as
we did.  I just hope that he felt that we were as much a blessing to him as
he was to us.
 
Goodbye, little Squeegemeister... go raise some hell and show 'em who's
boss.  We sure know you were down here.
 
Betty and Her Blur O'Fur and No More Fosters because we adopted them
all.....!!!
Greatly missing Squeegie... may he rest in peace.
[Posted in FML issue 2962]