Dear Ferret Folks-

The annual winter coat blow has come and gone. Todd is now a
lushly-furred fellow, fat and happy. He has grown a luxuriant pelt,
indeed. The dark stripe down the middle of his head and nose has
largely disappeared. Now he has a white face and forehead, with only
a single dark smudge right over his nose. The rest of his nose stripe
appears to be lying all over my house spread out in a thin layer. I
am assuming his stripe will come back in the spring.

Now, Todd *knows* he is gorgeous and minky. He knows it. He waddles
along with a special swagger to his step. He knows he is lookin' good.
And it is so tempting to reach out and stroke that back from little
ears to tail. That is what I did the other night when I was washing
dishes and I found him up on the kitchen island. I didn't stop to
think. I just reached out one warm, dripping hand and ran it the
length of his back.

Omigod, the look he gave me over his shoulder! It was a look of
smoldering weasel contempt. It was "Woman, you got me ALL! WET!" Then
he did a little emergency grooming, grumbling all the while, little
dark thundercloud over his head. He sat back on his butt and threw one
back leg into the air like a dog so that he could munch on his tail
fur and get it back the way it was supposed to be, before I so crassly
mussed it up. He probably spent two or three minutes munching on
himself and combing with his paws before was satisfied with the lay
of his fur. Then he leveled another one of *those* hard looks at me,
and waddled out of sight.

I got the message. Don't get Todd wet. He doesn't like it.

So why did the little creep then turn right around that night and jump
into the bathtub while the shower was running? He had a ball, leaping
and scrambling and frolicking. By the time he decided he 'd had enough
he was wringing wet, all of that lovely fur picked out into sharp
spikes. He then power-zoomed all over the house, leaping on Hebert and
jumping up at my shins with an open mouthed grin of fang and mayhem. He
made standing leaps into the air with arms thrown wide open, so that
with his tail he looked like a five pointed star fish. A *demented*
star fish, with teeth. He was out of his mind for a good ten minutes,
his tail puffed two inches wide and bottle-brushed. Then he jumped back
into the tub to play with the leftover puddle of water in the bottom.
Once again, he emerged sodden and berserk.

Apparently it's OK for him to get wet when he feels like it, but no
human has *permission* to get him wet. I see. Another weasel rule for
me to tuck away for further consideration. Silly me, you'd think I'd
know all of the rules after so many years. Apparently not.

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6177]