HERE YE, HERE YE...
Be it known this day that Ferrets are a sneaky and altogether dubious lot.
Case in point: The thieving ferret.
We hath harbored such a creature at this very residence. Lo, he dwells with us still.
He is as sneaky as sloughfoot himself, and twice as devilish. He possesseth the fang and the claw, all the better to climb you with, my dear. He crappeth all the live-long day and night, like a perpetual crapping machine. He doth not take time off for the Holidays.
Aside from the foul and pungent stench of the cage where the bi-hourly turdings occur, there are other traits which cause varying degrees of grief amongst those forced to share quarters with this beast.
First, there is the thievery. There is nary a moral to be found among these sticky fingered rodents. Verily, I have found stashes overflowing with TV remotes, hair brushes, cat toys, one rubber fish, and numerous fluffy white tampons made even fluffier by the vigorous shredding which had taken place before the hiding of the spoils.
Then there is the corner crappery. All ferrets are guilty of gleefully backing up into any and all household corners to let fly with their foulness. They actually smile while they commit this atrocity. I've seen this with my own eyes.
Then, and most evil of all, is their hatred of the delicate underleg flesh. I have been bitten, friends and neighbors. BITTEN.
Yes, I fear the ferret. Especially since I've been chewed. Now, mind you, this run-by biting was not a recent occurance, but the pain and anguish have left me silent on the matter until now.
I've been attacked thrice. I no longer allow this particular rodent to run free within the confines of my home, as it compromises my security. However, he is allowed to run and play upon occasion, supervised by those who are foolhardy enough to humor him, and only when I am in the safety of my room, my sanctuary.
Upon rare occasion, the ferret frees himself from his bondage and runs wild through the house. He is a talented escape artist. When per chance the two of us meet, usually in a long and darkened corridor, the ferret and I square off, like two adversaries about to do battle. He strikes a pose reminiscent of Sheriff Matt Dillon, from Gunsmoke, thus leaving me to play the role of the soon-to-be wounded villain. You see, it's a mind game with the ferret. He seeks to intimidate before he inflicts his fury. Usually I break this stand off, by screaming like a wee lass and running into the first open room, slamming the door behind me.
Sheer terror, says I.
Pretending not to be afraid doesn't work, for HE KNOWS.
Pretending to be non-chalant in the face of the menacing ferret is futile and provides him with more to reflect on and laugh over later, for HE IS DIABOLICAL.
Wrapping myself in blankets and reclining in the Lazy-Boy with my feet out of reach does not work for HE CLIMBS. Worse yet, HE BURROWS.
I was once bitten on my tender underleg areas by this beast after he'd deftly tunneled his way up. I tried to escape, and upon that abject failure, I attempted to throttle him through the blankets. I squeezed and squeezed his wiry neck, to no avail. He lived to mock me further. I wished only to stun, not to kill.
Still, I take the high road and hand him apple slices and ferret treats when he is safely locked away in his opulant 5 story penthouse ferret abode. He is a taker, not a giver. Fortunately for him, he is very cute. His visage has earned him a comfortable habitat.
Friends, save yourselves, never let a ferret dwell in your home. For they know evil.