The other side of stink

Ferrets are the epitome of society's bum rap.

Sure, they steal just about everything, and they wouldn't poop anywhere but exactly where you don't want them to, and of course, the granddaddy of all complaints - they smell.

My dad maintains the ferret musk is reminiscent of rats on the old farm, and is therefore revolting. I, however, believe he's exaggerating - trying to keep a safe distance so he doesn't feel all mushy inside when he sees those little black, beady eyes.

He's a man's man though, so I'll let the charade play on.

That doesn't mean, however, that I think they deserve his condemnation.

Here's an example - Marcellus the ferret, bless his little heart and rest his soul, was my number 2 during college.

When I first got him, he pooped on everything. The only place he didn't relieve himself was the special corner-fit litter box, made just for the 15 or so daily trips to his little ferret office. I think his spastic little nut brain thought the litter box was mostly for cage décor, so it went largely unused.

Ferrets are corner creatures though, so he hit up most of the corners in my apartment, and definitely all the ones in his cage.

But once he picked his favorite corners, where he could gaze lazily out the window, there was nothing I could do to change it.

Ferrets are very stubborn, didn't you know?

So he pooped wherever he wanted, and I constantly dogged after him with paper towels and fresh newspaper. (Secretly, I did amuse myself while sounding off the oh-so cliché "beep...beep...beep" when he backed up into poop position.)

I'm sure editors at The Kansan wouldn't appreciate knowing that my ferret was making use of their front page - and every other page - as his personal poopy pads. I was smart enough not to bring that up as a conversation item, for the sake of my grades.

And as for the bandit reputation, sure, I had a few things lifted in the apartment.

I think the most upsetting theft involved an old friend that came visiting one night.

I didn't witness this, so I remain skeptical as to a possible framing, but apparently he "stole" a wallet.

Now, the jacket was on the couch, and we were watching TV right beside the jacket. I didn't see Marcellus ever sneak into the pocket that contained the wallet. No rustling noises, no gleeful sounds during the big escape - nothing.

We searched for a good 30 minutes before Nate looked suspiciously at the fuzzy body lying on the floor, fatigued from romping about, I was sure.

I knew he took immense pleasure in hiding things inside the couch, so begrudgingly and without placing blame, I offered to make a quick once-over.

How he so quietly got the wallet out of the jacket and into the couch, and with so few bite marks, I have no idea.

Marcellus was the one wronged, though. Once claimed, that wallet was his, and he certainly didn't appreciate its being excavated. He hopped around the room, mouth agape, teeth half-heartedly bared, making hasty darts at Nate's feet. As the situation looked to become bloody, I had to split them up.

I think Nate still holds a grudge.

Marcellus also enjoyed a good escape in the middle of the night. I used duct tape, cardboard, clothes, the couch legs I removed so he couldn't get under the couch and tear it up anymore ... anything I could find to secure the various weak points in his cage.

I finally had a breakdown one night as I lay in bed listening, dreading the sounds of him furiously tugging at the cage walls, just seconds after I returned him from the previous prison break. I think he escaped a total of six times that night. That's also the night that he won his "while she's in the house" freedom to roam.

But aside from the clever escapes from his cage, sneaking into my bed at dawn to bite my feet until I got up or shut him out, scratching at the door until I let him back in to continue biting my feet, digging all the dirt out of my houseplants and rubbing it into the carpet, destroying the lining inside my couch, destroying the filter inside my heater, destroying the carpet near any door that was shut, destroying my sanity - aside from all that, he was a good little ferret ... when he was sleeping.

-------

Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor. She can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or katyblair@npgco.com