Ferret Fever

Thoughts and good vibes requested on K’s behalf, please. I have ferret fever, and I have it bad.

I’ve always loved ferrets but was never allowed to get any because my mom didn’t want to deal with the smell. Then I got my own house, but my 24/7 on call funeral director lifestyle meant no chaos demons for me since I wouldn’t have the time to devote to them. Then illness and reduced wages from my medical resignation from mortuary work meant I couldn’t afford them. But now. . . now things have changed.

K has moved in, which alleviates a lot of the expenses. I’ve accepted a new position at my company, which brings me closer to my funeral director wages, also helping with the financial crunch I’ve been dealing with for the last several years. Things are getting cleared out and reorganized at home, and (knock wood) things are pretty peachy. Cue the ferret fever.

I’m Ace and child-free. I’ve never had any kind of maternal instinct, and the older I get, the more resolutely kid free I am. So what’s a 39-year-old woman to do when she’s in a stable, happy relationship and wants to nest and grow the family?

I have ferret fever the way other folx get baby fever.

My two cats have adopted K into the fold (though Blue adores him with a greater fervor than Runa, who I hear is only nice to him when I’m around and reverts to a hissy gremlin when I’m out of sight), and now I want K and I to have a critter with whom we can bond together.

It was reignited in a messy, obsessive way in September when I got to meet a few sleepy cat-snakes at a Ren Fair. Since then, I’ve been researching and scheming and budgeting and delighting in the fact my employer offers ferret vet insurance along with coverage for my cats. K is on board with this, and agrees with the plans I’ve made regarding which room will be converted into the ferret’s containment zone for when it can’t be supervised. I’ve even gone as far as brushing up on the ins and outs of importing a pet ferret to Iceland (which will be infinitely easier and less expensive than the cats’ quarantine and permit fees!).

I’m supposed to be finalizing edits on The Book, especially since the printers need it earlier than anticipated due to supply issues and the upcoming holiday frenzy. I should be saving up for holiday expenses and making upgrades on the house. I ought to be doing a lot of things with my time and energy, but I’m obsessing over adopting a ferret instead.

It just seems like the best way to celebrate with K about us and with Loki about the impending release of The Book is by unleashing a stinky little disaster noodle who needs constant supervision because it will generate disorder and absurdity and the likes of which even I can’t fathom.

Seriously, is there any better pet to represent Loki than a ferret? Weird-ass little critter in constant near-peril thanks to a penchant for sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong who, as much as a headache as they can be, are absolutely worth the chaos because of the hilarity and joy they inspire. . . sounds about right.

So yeah. . . send some good mojo K’s way, please, because I have not shut up about this. Seriously, I don’t have the faintest clue what baby fever is like, but I’m pretty sure this ferret fever has got it beat. I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t adopt one of those fuzzy little bastards soon. I’m far more insufferable than usual. K deserves so much better. I just deserve the insanity of a ferret.

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