She’s white, sort of fluffy, more so since living here, has dark eyes and doesn’t talk—at all. No, she’s not a dream date, she’s a one pound ferret. I think her name is Cotton flake, but I’m not sure, I call her little girl or ‘hey ferret.’ Either way, she can’t answer, so what’s the use?
The kids dropped her off at my house for a week I was told. The unopened 8lbs of dry ferret kibble should have been my first clue. Two months later there are still over 7lbs in the bag. The cage they delivered with the little creature is there, gate wide open. The ferret has the run of the house. I take her for evening walks, after the sun goes down as ferrets cannot handle the heat. I’ve given up on finding a harness she can’t free herself from in less than 20 seconds. As long as I can outrun her, we’ll be fine. I look at her, silent and still in a white basket she calls home and ask myself, “Do ferrets dream?”
I think she’s about four years old. The kids got her to keep Fat Head from feeling sad after Millie, their first ferret, died at seventeen months. A scorpion stung her.
Fat Head was the handicapped ferret and he was the little white ferret’s family. Even after she ran away twice, and both times was returned. Fat Head was steady and dependent, plus, due to his handicap he wasn’t likely to join her in her escapades. When poor, cuddly Fat Head died, a decision was made, no more ferrets, little white orphan will have to learn to be alone.
I remember when the kids brought her for a visit to the old house, a month after Fat Head’s passing. This was her first visit alone, the two furry creatures loved to chase each other up and down the stairs to my bedroom. Once out of the carrier, she moved around the kitchen and the living room, then she headed for the stairs and must have picked up the scent of her old playmate because she went crazy…literally flying up the stairs while sniffing and making sounds. I have since learned they are called dooking. My heart broke because I knew she was headed for the corner of the closet where the two of them used to cuddle when they spent the night at my house. How do you explain to her there was no Fat Head hiding upstairs?
Now she is here, in my new place, just as alone and silent. I did get her some toys, she shows no interest, amuses herself mostly with plastic bags or waste baskets. I try to imagine what her world is like, her view is limited to the floors, my painted toes and peeking out the patio door. She follows me around when she’s awake and I assume in a good mood? When I carry her downstairs for our evening walk she appreciatively licks my wrist. I watch her sleep and when her tiny body shakes I ask myself, “Do ferrets dream?”