Dear Ferret Folks- Some of you have been remarking to me in personal correspondence that Todd is, quote, "the good ferret." Good, in contrast to Caff-Pow who is bigger, stronger, faster, and often shows a more pronounced low-animal cunning. It is true that I generally write here about Caff-Pow rather than Todd. But don't sell Todd short. He is first and foremost a ferret, and due his proper respect for that alone. Yes, he weighs maybe half of what Caff-Pow does, so he doesn't knock the same things down. He can't land Caff-Pow's leaps. (Thank the Lord!) In general, he does not exhibit Caff-Pow's dogged determination to do truly *boneheaded* things, regardless of the consequences. But Todd is a ferret...and a ferret is not to be taken lightly. This morning I woke up to discover that my husband was in the back yard with our friend Glenn, chatting. Ahh...no problem. Glenn is a nice fellow, even if he is not an animal person. He's a tractor guy. He and my hubby were looking at my hubby's collection of apparently destroyed internal combustion machines. Cash for Clunkers has *not* made it to my back yard. As I poured myself that all-important first cup of coffee I noticed that the back door was tightly closed. That was unusual during a hot summer's day. I had a sparkle of intuition...I went to the boy's cage and I only saw ONE boy, Todd. Who sat up in the top hammie daintily on one hip and gave me his very best innocent expression. The sparkle of intuition burst into a bright, full-fledged bonfire. We keep the back door closed when the ferrets are out of the cage. Where was Caff-Pow? I looked out the back door and saw the blue-green sea monster squeakie on the back deck. Oh, *RAP! Then I knew that not only was Caff-Pow *out* of the cage, he was *out* of the house. The hubby had been trying to squeak him out from beneath the house. That's a great idea, if you have a ferret with the all-important squeakie gene. Caff-Pow, being a DeVore ferret, has no squeakie gene. I opened the back door, thinking "Well, if he is out there he might come in on his own, but not if all the doors to the house are closed against him." I left it wedged open and I called to my husband "Where is Caff-Pow?" He turned from his conversation with Glenn and answered laconically "Oh, he's been under the house for about an hour now. He'll come out when he's ready." A small, feral piece of my primate ancestry that kicked butt on the African Savannah about a million years ago came back to life. Somewhere, a herd of antelope in Kenya felt the psychic vibrations from thousands of miles away and burst from the bush, hooves thundering. I snarled "Wellifhe'sbeenoutforanhourwhyhaven'tyoubeentryingtocatchhimforanhour?" and my husband visibly paled. Obviously, the wife's Defcon status was redlining. You betcha. I turned to collect another useless squeakie from the computer room when in bounded Caff-Pow, looking all happy and mellow. GOTCHA!!! One weasel, caught. My hubby ventured a bit closer (no fast moves, don't spook the wife) and said "Todd let him out of the cage about three times. I had no idea how it was happening at first, and that I needed to keep the back door shut. You'll see how I've bent the cage door bars to make them tighter." I lowered my eyelids in a look of languid disbelief. It is one of my more dangerous expressions. "*Todd* let Caff-Pow out?" "Yeah. He figured out that if he grabbed the top bar in his teeth and hung from it while kicking the door, it would un-latch on its own. He did it over and over." I walked back to the cage and examined the little barred doors. I could see where the paint had been scratched by fangage. Well, what do you know...If you bend that top bar juuuust enough, the latch does loosen up...I'm sure that the first time it was an accident, but after that it was purely deliberate. Todd, you devil, you. The "good ferret" indeed. Still sitting prettily on that one hip, wearing an innocent look beneath that dark nose stripe. Todd doesn't *like* leaving the house, but how much fun it must have been to let Caff-Pow out, over and over and over...He watched me shake all of the little barred cage doors, seeing how my husband had latched all of them against a higher bar to snug them up. His innocent look (complete with preternaturally long, dark eyelashes like a Barbie doll) never slipped. He never came out of character. The "good ferret", indeed... Alexandra in MA [Posted in FML 6434]