I'm deeply offended by the thought that someone considers my having 8
ferrets akin to slavery!!
 
I'm outraged!  I'm disgusted!  I'm furious!  Don't those idiots know it's
the OTHER way around??  That I'm the slave to my 8 babies??  Jeez!  Do some
research!  Do they have ANY idea what it's like on a typical day?
 
First I open the cage and get run over by 5 ferrets that act like chipmunks
on crack.  I sit perfectly still while the First Minute Of Rampaging takes
place, as they yoing off each other/me/furniture/walls, etc.  If I stand
up, I am tripped/jumped on/leaped at or have my shin/ankle/toes bitten.
Then I am herded effectively downstairs by these Ritalin Needing fuzzbutts.
If I manage to get down the stairs without being tripped or ambushed, I am
pulled into the kitchen where they run back and forth between the frig and
the microwave, demanding Chicken Gravy.  They're starving, they say!  They
haven't been fed in YEARS, they claim!  So I get 5 bowels, 5 jars.  They
eat and eat and eat, and then tear off.
 
I believe I am safe.  I begin to clean up.  As if by magic, they hear
the dishwasher open and I am plucking 5 ferrets out from between the
tines/plates/silverware.  Pluck one, toss it off.  Pluck the second one,
grab the first one again and punt off the third.  Extricate the fourth from
where he had wedged himself between two bowels, grab the third who has used
the second as a ladder.  Get bitten by the first when he decides he doesn't
WANT to leave.  Then they all run off.
 
I believe I am safe.  I begin to clean elsewhere.  I remake the pile of
magazines the third has knocked over.  I throw trash into a can, remake the
magazines after the first knocks it over, pluck the fifth from the trash
can, shake the fourth one off my leg.  I pick up the candles the second one
has knocked off the table while the first one knocks the magazines back
over and the third and fifth one fight in the trash can.  Then they tear
off.
 
I believe I am safe.  I go into the kitchen, trip over the toilet cleaning
brush which they ALL have an unhealthy obsession with smothering.  As I
curse, they run in and look at the microwave.  I glare.  They run off.
 
Once again, I believe I am safe.  I move upstairs.  I can almost HEAR it.
"HEY!  MOMMY'S GOING UPSTAIRS!!" I am tripped, ambushed and leaped at as I
go up the stairs.  We move into the bathroom.  I dig the second one out of
the trash can, pick up the hair dryer the first one has knocked off, pluck
the third and fifth out of the bath tub I am trying to clean.  I turn the
water on, bend over the tub and am suddenly a Human Ramp.  I shrug off one
and three who are using me as a ladder.  I pluck the fifth one out of the
bath tub where he is beating up the fourth.  They all run off.
 
I grow wary.  I cautiously move into the bedroom.  Not a nose, tail, set of
hind legs anywhere.  I bend over to pick up clothes.  YEE-HAW!!!  I trip
over the first one who has darted out from the bed.  I get jumped on by the
third who was laying in wait under the piece of clothing.  The fifth one
hurls himself at the piece of clothing like a dive bomber.  I move to throw
it into the basket and drag the fourth one who is clinging to my sock.  I
move to the bed.  All 5 are up on the bed.  The first one leaps at the
sheet, setting off a horrific domino reaction with the others.  Leaping,
jumping, chirping, clucking, hissing, and thuds as they hit the floor.  My
quilt has lumps that move.
 
God help me if I even LOOK at my quilt squares.  They help me open the
mail, open any box that comes.  They attack the Hoover.  They want to go
visit the mailman.  They stand on the keyboard.
 
And that's not even what happens when I let the silver mitt out, who I am
POSITIVE is a Dalmation puppy in disguise.
 
Slaves, my butt!  Yeah, I'll show them who's REALLY in charge!
 
Julie
[Posted in FML issue 2918]