Dear Ferret Folks-
No ferrets were harmed during this event. Caff-Pow, at full four pounds
is the largest ferret I have ever dealt with and is *very* physical.
Four pounds doesn't sound like a lot? Ha. That's around three and a
half, four slightly built Marshalls females. Caff-Pow's head is bigger
around than Todd's trunk. Actually, it was bigger around than Todd's
trunk when Caff-Pow was only three months old. Caff-Pow *enjoys* the
sort of play that I will describe here. Sometimes he likes to lie in
my arms and be petted, but he really enjoys this physical stuff. It
makes him dook and dance and come back for more. It's been a real
adjustment for me to learn how to play like this!

But it is unquestionably what he craves.
****************************************

This evening I was in the bathroom, seated, minding my *own* business.

Unsurprisingly, Caff-Pow, all four pounds of him, a furry gray eggplant
with four feet lay on his side just next to the bathroom door and
kicked and clawed until he had the door open. This is nothing new.
Large rude mammals resembling eggplants run rough-shod over and
through my home on a regular basis.

He regained his feet and entered the bathroom, eying me. I looked back,
unflinchingly. I will not be intimidated by rude four legged mammals
that resemble *eggplants*, even if their pedigree is superior to my
own. Nothing is dignified about *eggplants.* Not even eggplants with
whiskers and a tail.

The rude mammal took a few steps closer to me, and I could see from the
set of his haunches that he was gathering himself for a leap into my
lap. Honestly, I *hate* that. I really hate it. He makes sure he stays
just far enough away from me that I can't kick him while he is readying
for the leap. This rude mammal can make four foot vertical leaps. They
are only slightly shorter if he has to jump as high as an unarmed
hoomin's lap, seated, in the bathroom. It's no problem for him to stay
out of kicking range to make the leap.

He squatted down, switched his tail excitedly like a puppy a few
times, bunched the long muscles of his back and he left the floor...
he sailed...right into the roll of toilet paper that I thwapped him
soundly with. I'm no teenager, but my hand-eye co-ordination is still
pretty good. Hooo! He didn't like that. He hit the floor with no grace
whatsoever and rolled like a tumbleweed. Sucks to be you, buddy. It was
purely self-defense.

While he tried to untangle his feet from his tail and get ready to make
a second leap, I reached over to the left and gave the shower curtain a
hurried toss open across the length of the tub. I pulled the water knob
into the "on" position, I can now do that without looking. My nemesis
heard the water and he stood with a wide four-square stance, his eyes
narrowed. His hearing is even better than my aim with a roll of Scott's
Extra Soft. He knew what the water meant. I didn't have to say a word.
The gauntlet had been thrown down.

You know of course that this means war...ferret.

My own eyes narrowed and he leapt. He sailed through the air
arrow-straight aimed for my lap. This time I grabbed him with two hands
and tossed him (gently, a true warrior understands self-discipline, and
uses it to her advantage) into the bathtub. While he scrambled on the
slick surface I again reached to the left and pulled up the shiny metal
toggle that activates the shower. The rude mammal was *instantly*
drenched. Was the water cold? Ask me how much I care. I know that it
wasn't injuriously *hot*, and that was all that mattered to me at that
moment.

The now temporarily out of his mind the rude ( try insane) weasel
scrambled up and over the side of the tub, flinging water everywhere.
Then he lunged for me. I bent over forward and grabbed him with both
hands, again tossing him into the tub. Again he scratched, dithered,
ran circles beneath the blast of the water. He leapt for the edge of
the tub, threw one back foot over, twisted, and he was once again on
the bathroom floor. He stopped to roll a few times on the little blue
shag rug at my feet then he backed up, mouth open, head swaying like
a cobra and hissing.

Like I was scared. HA. I again fisted my roll of Scott's Extra Soft
into my right hand and readied myself. I could afford to sacrifice
it to the battle. I did not have long to wait. Again, the leap...he
sailed, arrow straight in my direction, tail hanging behind like the
tail of a speeding meteor scraping the night sky and leaving sparks...
THWAP! With the Scotts. Another leap, another THWAP! He tried changing
the angle of his leaps and again, I tossed him into the tub. His exit
was instantaneous and decidedly ungraceful.

And this time, he ran out of the bathroom, dripping, and did not
return. I had won. And you know, it is the little victories like these
that make life so worth living...these little moments that beat the
hell out of, say, a cup of coffee with hazlenut creamer, or a bath with
scented candles, or a trip to the spa, or the rustle of tiny fluted
papers in a hidden box of Whitman's Sampler. No, this victory was far
sweeter.

I reached to the left and turned off the water. I closed my eyes. I
wrapped myself in that moment of peace and clarity. Oh, I had won,
but only the battle. The war, presumably, will never end. And with
a thousand sheets to every roll, never will the Scotts.

Alexandra in MA

Todd: What is it with you?
Caff-Pow: You wouldn't understand, little Marshall's man.

[Posted in FML 6460]