Born feral, Ferret was hand reared by a human mother. He lived happily with her for the first five years of his life (happily, that is, except for the terrible event that took his leg. I still hope the worthless individual who set traps for cats in his vegetable garden will get what he deserves.) For some undisclosed reason, he then went to long-term foster care, in search of a new permanent home.
Ferret spent twelve months in foster care, and during that time he became close friends with Louis, who also became our cat. Very different personalities, they evidently found something precious in each other, and I'm told they were always together.
Around that time I had lost my own cat, RooRoo, and the foster carer offered Ferret to me. I saw a picture of him, thought he looked boring, and didn't want to take on a three-legged cat whom I mistakenly thought would be 'special needs'. So I foolishly declined the opportunity and continued to search, unsuccessfully, for a new companion.
A few months later, the foster carer (at that time a friend - now, alas, no more) contacted me in violent distress, saying she had been evicted from her rented house. I saw danger looming and headed it off by quickly offering a specific, clearly delineated amount of help. I offered to take two cats for a period not to exceed three weeks, while she relocated herself. And so I brought home Ferret and his friend, who at that time was named Fatboy. We set them up with nice soft beds in the dining room, to give them a little distance from the dogs. Remember, they were to be with us only for a short time. They had cardboard boxes and pillows to sleep on. I went in there several times a day to chat with them and check on them. Louis came out and was friendly, but Ferret lurked in his cardboard box and if I went near him, he would greet me with a rant of appalling proportions; spitting, growling and generally offensive behaviour. I got used to this routine.
On the third day, Ferret suddenly emerged from the dining room when I was in the kitchen. He made a beeline for me and overwhelmed me with love. It was quite an experience; I ended up sitting on the kitchen floor while he swarmed all over me, and in the process I was informed that I was now HIS. It was a powerful experience. I rang up the foster person on the telephone. Please, please don't say I have to give Ferret back, I told her. I cannot part with him. She quickly agreed, hung up the phone and no doubt went away rubbing her hands and going 'I love it when a plan comes together.'
Ferret was now part of the family, but Louis, more shy, continued to stay in the dining room although he was always happy to chat if one went in there. After a couple more days, though, my husband, never a cat man before, spontaneously fell in love with him and I had another call to make. And so, the two friends remanied together until the ends of their lives.
Ferret quickly fitted himself into all of the spaces in my life, and several that he made for himself. He helped me at work
and would spend most of the working day in my in tray. I had to rearrange my desk and keep my work in a separate pile, or else I could not get at anything. One file always had to be left in the tray, though. If not, Ferret complained that the wires of the basket dug into him.
He helped me study...
He helped me decorate the Christmas tree...
And clean the bath...
And bring up my puppy...
He was there in everything that I did. Several times a day, he would climb up the big tree next to our house and get on the roof. He loved it up there. Occasionally, he'd be joined by Louis.
Louis was not a problem; if he went up the tree, later on he came down the tree. Ferret, however, with his one front leg, could not come down by himself. I had to go up the extension ladder and carry him down. We fell into a routine. Ferret would call me when he wanted to descend, and I would go and fetch him down. The extension ladder became a fixture at the edge of our patio. There was just no point ever putting it away.
Ferret travelled really well in the car, as long as I did not play any music of which he disapproved, which was a wide field. He had a particular hatred of Harry Belafonte. I got into the habit of listening to audiobooks instead as we travelled between town and country. Ferret loved the country house, and it was nice having a break from the ladder.
Ferret comforted me through the loss of two wonderful hounds, and the loss of my husband's dog, and he helped me bring up two puppies. He saw me through my Grad Dip, and he was there when I was admitted to the Legal profession. Well, not there in the Supreme Court, obviously. But no doubt he was at my desk, watching the ceremony online. He had certainly been there for all the study.
His initial sweariness, although he continued to have quite a mouth on him, was never repeated after that first amazing encounter in the kitchen. Not with me, anyway.
Ferret got on very well with our dogs, and my husband's enormous German Shepherd learned to scrunch himself up into one half of his futon, leaving the other half for Ferret. Ferret, although a small cat, claimed his full half. Still, his primary dog relationship was with my girl Emily; they were really besties, and therefore when Memphis died, I was thoroughly caught on the hop at Ferret's terrible grief. He had a rough, rough time, and actually started to self harm, biting off all his fur on his stomach, chest and legs, right back to the skin and often making himself bleed. I ended up putting him on Prozac for six months. That got him through it, although he always after that kept his bikini area shorn, like a tiny Brazilian. I suppose he just preferred it that way. When Emily died I kept her hidden from him until we could get her out of the house. I feared what that loss could do to him.
All the same, I could hide her body from him but I could not hide her absence, and within a few months Ferret, who had been a hearty, healthy cat in the prime of his middle age, suddenly started to become very old. He became incontinent, and gradually, over the ensuing couple of years, lost the ability to walk, although I kept him mobile for as long as I possibly could, always encouraging him through the slow walk to the kitchen rather than picking him up and carrying him. Losing Louis earlier in the year, though, was a blow to him, and in the last few months of his life, he could not even stand.
And yet, his life had value to him still. I remained, and remain, utterly convinced of that. His world had drawn in to a tiny scope, but he enjoyed his food right up to the last, he always enjoyed cuddles, he still purred and occasionally delivered a gentle bite of love, he loved to be carried out into the garden for the morning sunshine. I didn't think he could see very well any more, but he would lie there scenting the air and listening to the birds, and he always seemed happy. And because I am self-employed, and work from home, I was able to provide all the support he needed. Right up until that last day, when it was clear in the morning that he had set his foot on the road and would not be turning around. All through the day he drifted, semi-conscious. I was able to get him to take a few sips of water, but he would not touch food. And that night, I knew that if I went to sleep, I would wake and find him gone, and he would have died alone. And so we sat up together. I held him on my lap, and stroked him gently and talked quietly to him, and after a few hours I realised I was talking to empty air. Ferret was no longer present.
I buried him next to Emily, whom he loved most in the world after me. There will never be another cat like him.
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