How the Ferret Got Named
by
Uncle Snavely
Yes, well . . . there it is. How the lives of the mighty have been
struck low. The globe trotting, world renowned journalist reduced to
writing stories for the pet desk. Actually, this might be so bad . . . I
understand my new editor is fairly new and untrained in the ways of the
world, so this might not be too bad a gig after all. Besides, the wall-eyed
mud sucker has already signed off on my expense voucher without asking too
manny questions -- go figure. Anyway, here goes. For those of you who are
unaware, the ferret is the third most popular pet in America. Closely
following the dog and cat in popularity. I can understand the infatuation
with dogs -- who can resist those tongue lolling, tail-wagging, slobber
factories? I am still mystified over the second place standing of cats. I
am not by nature a cat fancier, cat lover, or even cat liker. Don't get me
wrong, I don't hate cats or even wish them any ill will. The simple fact is
that I don't trust cats. By nature, cats have all the loyalty of every
editor it has ever been my misfortune to know. In fact, both the editors
and the cats seem to share many the same facial features and expressions.
Squinty-eyed with low, sloping foreheads cats and editors seem cut from the
same bolt of cloth.
Anyway, I digress . . . of course, this little forays into the world of
digression are the meat and potatoes for any writer who gets paid by the
word. See, I've managed to add another two bucks to my fee already! As I
said a moment ago, I digress. My new editor on the Pet Desk, recently
ordered me to attend an international press conference in Rome concerning
the history of ferrets. Since Rome seemed as good a place as any to get
snockered, and since the statute of limitations regarding all of my
activities since my last visit to the city had run out, I decided to accept
the assignment. I could give you fair readers a wonderful account of the
city's colorful neighborhoods, the life-threatening adventures of trying to
cross the streets in a nation where driving is considered a contact sport,
and the wonderful night life. But, I won't because that bovine-faced,
tight-fisted travel editor won't pay any extra for such journalistic prose.
Let that tightwad send his own correspondent over here and see what he gets
besides a bunch of drivel and a disease that penicillin couldn't touch. Is
that a digression? Who cares, it just added enough to get another bottle of
cheap red wine for the night and even if all these wonderful digressions get
cut it will cost my editor a fortune at Western Union's prices. No, I don't
use a fax. I don't know how. I am too old to learn,and besides . . . Iike
the bright hues of red that spread over the editor's faces when the Western
Union bills come in. In this business, a guy has to get his kicks where he
can. Oh well, I can't digress any longer. Here, for those of you interested
-- for those of you who aren't, go grout the tile in your showers -- here is
the report filed from Rome.
ROME (FNI) -- Archeological excavations outside Rome have yielded amazing
results according to Professor Giovanni Antonio Primevara Bombolini of the
Italian Institute for the Studies of Antiquities and Other Old Stuff.
Bombolini and his British counterpart Carrington Wolverton
Sopwith-Binghampton announced late yesterday that according to ancient
records found in the Roman suburb of Malfortuna the domestic ferret was
named for an ancient Roman criminal.
According to the ancient documents, prior to A.D. 50, the ferret was known
to the Roman society simply as "that slinky, sinuous, four-footed little
critter." The Ancient Egyptians had previously named the animal, but nobody,
including the Egyptians, chose to use that name since it contained 83
letters and only two of them were vowels. According to Bombolini, many
Egyptians were known to die of massive cerebral hemorrhages simply trying to
pronounce the word. Sopwith-Binghampton believes the attempt to pronounce
the Egyptian word explains the antics of the British Royal family (See
related story, page 67). Bombolini's translations of the ancient documents
written in vulgar Latin indicate that around A.D. 43, a criminal
specializing in housebreaking named Ferritus Larscinius Felonious Magnus
began using the creatures in his criminal activities. The ancient documents
appear to be a combination diary and account book of the criminal.
Sopwith-Binghampton noted that according to the diaries Ferritus first noted
the potential for using the "slinky, sinuous, four-footed critter" during a
vacation to Gaul. While staying in a village near the ancient village of
PomFrits, Ferritus watched the pets of the inn keeper lifting the purse of a
drunken soldier and scurrying across the floor with it. Ferritus
immediately acquired four of the creatures and spent the next year training
them to drag items across the room to him. Ferritus noted in his diary that
"it is very easy to train the creatures to bring objects to me. By nature
they are bigger thieves than even the politicians in Rome and have an
insatiable craving for an oil mixture I have developed for them. Through
experimentation, I have discovered that the creatures will do nearly
anything for a mixture of cod liver oil and various vitamins. The creatures
will swill this mixture as eagerly as a sailor swills grog in port. I shall
call this mixture 'Ferretone' since it appears to have a toning effect on
their coats, as well as a beneficial effect on their general health. If
continued usage shows no ill side effects, perhaps I shall live the rest of
my life as an honest maker of a health tonic."
According to Bombolini, the diary shows that the criminal activities of
Ferritus showed a marked upswing in the years between A.D. 44 - 48. No
fewer than 1,873 houses were robbed of small valuables during the dark Roman
nights. In each case, the homes showed no visible signs of entry, although
the homeowners did note unusual animal droppings in the corners of rooms.
By A.D. 46, the criminal underworld had coined the term "ferretized" to
indicate a burglary in which no clues (other than the mysterious droppings)
were left behind. In his diary, Ferritus noted proudly . . . "Ignatz the
Hun told me that the home of Don Giovanni di Chipmunkius was ferritized
during the night."
Bombolini noted that the criminal activities of Ferritus ended tragically on
the Ides of September in A.D. 49. While waiting outside the home of Mama
Maria di Domino, the originator of the pizza franchise throughout the Roman
Empire, Ferritus dozed off near the Julius Caesar Memorial Bridge. Upon
returning with their stash, one of the four-footed bandits scurried under
the tunic of the sleeping Ferritus. According to a police report found with
the diary . . . "Night watchmen were aroused by an unearthly screaming in
the vicinity of the Julius Caesar Memorial Bridge. Arriving at the scene,
the Watch noticed a man screaming while doing an unusual dance very similar
to the style of the Greeks. The man alternated between hopping on first one
foot, then the other, and then leaping high into the air while clutching
himself in an extremely vulgar manner. During one of these leaps high into
the air, the man tumbled over the side of the bridge and disappeared into
the waters of the river below." Bombolini explained that the Watch eventually
found the diary of Ferritus as well as his four-footed accomplices. As a
result, the creatures were quickly dubbed "Ferritium," the Latin word meaning
belonging to Ferritus. Since "Ferritium" was much easier than "that slinky,
sinuous, four-footed little critter" and infinitely better than the Egyptian
word, it quickly became a part of the Roman language.
Sopwith-Binghampton noted that about a year later a very popular singer
named Ferritus di Castrato il Soprano first appeared, although there is
nothing to link the singer with the thief.
[Moderator's note: There you have it folks. Obviously Bob Church doesn't
know what he's talking about. BIG]
[Posted in FML issue 1624]
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