Dear Ferret Folks,
 
Ten minutes ago I reached into the cage and withdrew one whole, boneless
weasel.  She lay in my hands like a worn out rubberband, her head hanging
down like a pendulum at one end of her, her tail hanging down like an
afterthought at the other end.  Nothing, but nothing sleeps as soundly
as a ferret.  Not even a person baby.
 
I carefully tucked her into the front of my bathrobe and pulled the sash
tight to make a pouch.  I walked around the kitchen, made some coffee, all
the while keeping one hand on the soft, warm weight under my heart.  Just
the little tail and one soft, black back foot protrude from the edge of
the robe.  The bathrobe's fabric rises and falls, rises and falls at a
slow, steady pace.  I can stroke the underside of that warm foot with one
finger, and the little paw curls around and hugs my finger for a moment,
then relaxes once again.  My nasty old Sabrina.  Soon she's going to wake
up and shiver and want her blunt little ears rubbed.  She's going to want
her two Cheerios.
 
But not right now.  Not quite yet.  Shhhhhh!
 
Alexandra in Massachusetts
[Posted in FML issue 3705]