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]