This past Tuesday night, my worst fears were realize when I could not locate one of my ferrets. Except I wasn't positive that Mushu wasn't in the house just hiding, which she is good at, or that she had found herself a spot that she got accidentally hung up in and couldn't get out. There were signs during the day though, that told me that she may not actually been in the house... like Cherokee was out and playing with me all day. This is unusual because Cherokee and Mushu are always at each other and Cherokee, being the smaller of the two, finds places that protect her body while her face is the only thing showing. Mushu gives up and then leaves her alone. The other thing I noticed was that the house seemed unusually quiet. When I got home that night, the first thing I asked my hubby was, "Have you seen Mushu?" He replied that he had not and the mad search was on. Level One places are the most common sleeping areas. No go. Level Two areas are their favourite hiding spots that are not necessarily sleeping spots. No go. Level Three areas are those areas that you know are ferret proofed but you never know when the proofing fails, i.e. getting wedged behind a dresser, under the fridge. She was no where to be found. My heart sank... she had to have gotten outside... that was the only place left to search. After two hours outside, we gave up. We couldn't use a squeak toy as she was deaf, so calling her was out as well. It was sloppy wet snow outside and any of her footprints had melted during the day when I would assume she got out. The sidewalks were clear and she could have stuck to those to travel around in. We both hung onto the idea that she did not get out. I was not so sure. The next morning I tore apart the basement, going through every box, and moving everything I could move. I heard nothing... no scratching, no movement. My heart knew she had to have gotten out. I went to the dryer and pulled on the hose. It came off easily. Too easily. I yelled at my husband who flew down to look. It had been over 10 years since a ferret had climbed out of our home using this method of scratching a hole into the bottom of the hose, and climbing straight up 10 feet to the exit hole at the top. One of our other ferrets, Titch, had gotten out 3 times, and luckily, through the use of flyers, and the same children who found her each time, we got to keep our baby. We were stumped on how Titch had gotten out until one morning, when we were leaving for work, our headlights shone upon her shining face poking out of the dryer exit hole. We were shocked and elated at the same time and the mystery was solved. The hose was never reattached again. Last year we purchased a new washer and dryer and a new hose. My hubby, knowing what had happened in the past, wired on the hose well enough to keep any potential ferrets out but we also kept the basement door shut. Wednesday, I made up flyers and went about delivering them around the complex where I live. I called the SPCA and notified them. My worst fear was that Mushu would be mistaken for a weasel and that cruel boys would chase and beat her with a hockey stick. I was sick all day with the thoughts of her possible torture. Children around the neighbourhood were helpful and one told me of her brother spotting something weird running across the ice last night. As we live off a park, the chance was high it was her. I checked it out but could not see any footprints... damn melting snow. I ran across an older boy who had little hope of me finding her. After I left him, I did not want to believe that he may be right and tried to force it from my mind. That evening, after hubby returned from work, we made another plan to search. I had a meeting to go to but did not want to leave the house. My hubby insisted I go. I cried as I left. Upon reaching my destination, I was told to call home. My heart raced... found? Alive or dead? I called... my hubby told me that when I had pulled the car out of the stall, that he saw something sitting in the middle of the parking space... it was Mushu! So many things came together that night... if I hadn't left, I would have never moved the car... and if I hadn't pulled straight back... I would have run her over. A miracle had truly happened. I must confess at this point that I am not a praying person and neither is my husband, but as we talked later, we both found out that we had both prayed for her safe return all day. It seemed our prayers were answered. Thank God for miracles... and we did. Betty and Her Blur O'Fur doing further renovations! Missing Squeegie [Posted in FML issue 2971]