Feeling guilty over the doom I had sentenced on Scrappy's head, I let him out to roam around the house for awhile. Generally, he's confined to my office, since ferrets have never been noted for their bowel control even under the best of circumstances... But he had just gone, and I felt I owed it to him to let him run about and sniff to his heart's content.
I mean, I'm a pretty good ferret wrangler, but I turned my head to look at the postman and he was gone. I looked in the usual spaces, and he had completely gone bye-bye. I spent the next hour wandering about the house, screaming, "SCRAPPY!" at the top of my lungs, knowing that I was calling out to a deaf and mostly blind ferret.
Anxious and half-relieved - maybe he had actually ascended, God's way of taking the burden away from me - I eventually realized it was useless and returned to my computer, too anxiety-stricken to actually work. I then went worked on the redesign of theferrett.com, listening closely for the little scrabble of feet.
Gini came home. We searched for half an hour, turning the house upside-down. No soap. I was really sort of happy about this, since I was hunting him down to kill him on Friday; the mixture of emotions was giving me heartburn.
Eventually, he came trundling out three and a half hours later, no worse for the wear.
And so I find myself wondering; I mean, if he's well enough to run amuck on me like this, am I being too premature? Or is this one last happy romp that puts paid to a lifetime of incarcerations?
I don't know. What I do know is that in the downtime, too panicked to work on any paying projects, I finished the first iteration of theferrett.com's revamp. Do me a favor and take a look?
(And yes, I know the writings are riotously incongruous; the header, "Why I Can't Rape My Wife," is the last official theferrett.com article, whereas the text was pulled up at random from a tender love note to my bride. Consider it spacer text.)