I must admit that I haven't read the list in awhile.  I tend to talk to
myself when I read it, and usually it is of the negative variety.  So I
thought I would spare myself and skip it for awhile.  So then I skim
through it today, reading bits and pieces.
 
And then Bob C had to go and ruin it for me.  I usually skip posts about
ferrets passing away.  I have been *incredibly* blessed to not have had to
deal with this yet.  But I have 8 of them, and 2 of them are Insulinomic,
and 1 of those has already had Adrenal Cancer.  And as much as I wish to
deny fate, I see her getting older.  My Bailey.  I managed to get all the
way through the post about Apollo, and didn't blink a tear away until I got
to that damned "you rotten munchkin."  And then just burst into tears.  I
do that all the time.  "Oh, you little shit!" is mainly my phrase of
choice when they knock the Coke cans over, or shred the grocery bags, or
thoughtfully redistribute the potty pan pellets or just decide to poop in
the middle of the floor on a shoe.
 
I can not count the T-shirts, bedsheets and towels ruined by Ferretone.  I
can not count the inconceivable rolls of paper towels and cans of Spot Shot
we go through.  I can not imagine what I could have done with all the money
I have given my vet in the past year.  I can remember scores of days
walking into the apartment and going, "Oh yeah, 8 ferrets live here."  I
can remember the absolute lunacy of moving out of our one apartment into
another in a 3 day span because they changed the rules on us about our
ferrets.  I can not count the number of times I have had to come home early
from visits to my family because I can not leave them alone over night.
The Christmas I missed because 3 of our new ones needed hand feeding.  I
can not count the bite marks, scratch marks I have received by rescuing
someone during a fight.  I can not count the times I have thundered up the
stairs after hearing a baby's frightened or indignant screaming.  I can not
describe the fear, the sickness I felt when Boo was lost for 6 weeks or
when we came downstairs on Mother's Day to find they had knocked over the
plywood and escaped out the back door... I can not ever remember feeling as
helpless, as scared and as willing to bargain with my life as I did when my
Sturmie, my beautiful, big boy was deathly ill in January.
 
 But...
 
I can not imagine my life without their faces.  Boo's impossibly tiny ears.
Her little, tiny tongue.  I can not imagine my life without Sturmie's
kisses, his need to try and lick the eyebrows off your face.  I can not see
a day when I could come home and not see my Deedle Bug's gorgeous white and
silver face, and her curious black eyes.  I can not envision a laundry day
without a rousing game of Damn It, I Am Trying To Sort That!!  I can not
see stain free furniture because that would mean my Tassy wasn't around.  I
could not function without Howie helping me get ready in the morning.  I
can not get through a single day now without looking at Otto and being flat
out astounded at how gorgeous he is, how beautiful his face is.  I can not
imagine how I am ever going to have the strength to heal my heart when I
have to let Bailey go.  I can not ever imagine finding anything that calms
me when I come home from work so stressed out that I'm sick as they do when
they all clamber up me to fight to give me kisses.
 
Rotten little munchkins.
 
Julie
[Posted in FML issue 2691]