Dear Ferret Folks-

"Learning" a new ferret is like learning a new language, a new way to
live. I understood the habits of Ping and Puma very well. They pooped
in certain places, there were places you could not leave a beverage and
places that you could. And no matter what, we didn't let Puma near our
faces because she would eat them. We knew these things. They were well
worn habits and patterns of living, like water smoothed pebbles. We
knew the weight of them in our hands, instinctively.

But now, all bets are off. We are learning Todd's ways, and they
are new, sharp, surprising. For a long time, I thought that he was
irresistibly drawn to milled grains and cereals. He stole my bag of
tortilla flour, a pound of white corn meal. He stole my ziplock bag
full of rice. The ziplock bag full of dry barley kernels. And of
course, bag after bag of sliced bread. It wasn't until the Pancake
Disaster that I understood the truth.

Todd doesn't give a *amn about what is in the plastic bag, he just
wants the *bag*. Case in point was the bag of blueberry pancake mix. I
always have blueberry pancake mix on hand because of my five year old
nephew, Alexander. He is a frequent overnight guest, and he likes his
breakfast pancakes. Yes, he does. And I like making them for him. It
reminds me of when I would stay over at my great grandmother's house,
many years ago. She would always make us up a breakfast tray, and we
would go eat it in her enormous four poster canopy bed in front of the
TV. Those are good memories, nearly forty years old. Black and white
TV memories. I like to think that if I get hit by a truck tomorrow,
Alexander will always remember the pancakes, and someday understand the
love that went with them.

The pancake mix comes as a box, with a plastic bag of mix inside. Well,
I was once again sitting at the computer and I heard that "swissshhh"
noise that means Todd is dragging something across the hardwood floors.
This time it was the plastic bag, formerly the plastic bag full of
pancake mix. The mix itself was in a giant line on the floor. It
started at the low shelves in the kitchen, crossed into the living
room. It ran to the bedroom door, where it turned around because the
door was shut. It looped across the bathroom floor, and by the time
Todd ran full-bore for the yellow sofa (ran because I was *chasing*
him) there was barely a tablespoon left in the bag.

I caught a corner of the bag as it disappeared beneath the sofa. A tug
of war ensued, which I won. There I was holding an empty bag of pancake
mix while Todd fumed. This was a small, sad victory indeed. The
clean-up was horrendous, horrendous. The stuff was as fine as baby
powder, and sweeping it mostly pushed it around. I had to haul out the
vacuum cleaner. I lost sight of the plastic bag and sure enough, I
found it beneath the yellow sofa later in the day. Along with several
others.

It's not just plastic bags that Todd likes. He has a purely unhealthy
desire to stash my Crocs, those ugly, lumpy, colorful slip-on shoes
that are more comfortable than anything else that I have ever worn. I'm
guessing that they are made from re-cycled pancake flour bags. I have
had to run a string through all three of my pairs as if they were
individual beads on a string, and tie that string around the base of
the videocassette cabinet. Otherwise...you guessed it. They wind up
beneath the yellow sofa.

As does every ziplock bag in my house. The bag I keep the highlighter
pens and stapler in. The one I keep crayons in for Alexander. The one I
keep the collection of tiny dinosaurs in for him to play with. I have
had to completely re-do the low shelves in my kitchen so that the
ziplock full of dried beans is not the next victim. Now I just keep
canned goods there. All bagged food has moved to the pantry shelves,
where the canned goods used to be.

I understand and respect that each and every ferret is different from
any other. I just wish that Todd would leave me a Post-It note with
his...habits on it so that I know what the *rules* are. Instead, I am
learning them one small catastrophe at a time.

Anyone want to buy three pairs of size 7 Crocs?

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6131]