Dear Ferret Folks- Last night Ping is He and Puma had the run of the house, and I realized that it was too quiet. Much too quiet. I walked into the darkened computer room and I could tell just from the way he was standing that Ping was Up To Something. He has a special way of standing over something that he doesn't want me to see, so of course I wanted very badly to see what it was. He had something in his fangs that felt like a camera's memory chip, a little tile. I picked Ping up, and the tile came up in his fangs with him. I held him up to my face in the darkness and he gave me that *look*, the one that says simultaneously "I'm really charming!" and "I don't give a tinker's damn what you want, but I'm cool with that !" I hate that look. I pulled the little tile from his mouth and felt it. The edges were rounded. It was dimpled with fang holes like braille. I reached out and flipped the light switch with one knuckle of the hand holding the tile, and all was revealed. About a week ago Ocean State Job Lot, an extraordinary vendor of trash and treasure here in the New England region had had *treasure* on sale. 70% Cocoa dark chocolate Lindt bars, big ones, for a dollar. I bought five. I even shared with my friends the other night at a party. (This will probably never happen again, and might very well be a sign of the dreaded End Times.) But I had never intended to share with Ping. He helped himself, somehow, to the one ounce slab of dark chocolate I had had to pry out of his face with some force. Where did he get it? I don't know. But he doesn't have it anymore. Did he sulk? You bet. He deflated like a balloon and just hung there in my grip. Then he gave me that other look I hate. The one that has little shiny wounded eyes that look they are about to overflow with tears that says "You don't love me. Admit it!" By now Puma had walked into the room, quietly, and stood at my feet, just watching. She knew she had missed something good, but she didn't know what it was, and that makes her cross. Puma likes to be in the loop. So I held the little tile of chocolate down to her and she made a face like "BLEAHH!" and backed away, her tail puffing. Puma doesn't do chocolate, although I can only imagine it would help her disposition. Coffee. Cigarettes. That ferret needs*something*. So there I was, holding Ping. With his waxy, 70% dark cocoa fangs. He was licking his teeth. I put him down, gently, and he followed me all over the house for the next five minutes, hoping in vain that I would relent, (NOT!) and give him back his one ounce tile of dark chocolate. He was so miserable he actually put *himself* back in his cage. Now that's serious protest! (No, I didn't eat the chocolate.) Alexandra in Ma [Posted in FML 5708]