Tilting at Windmills: The most lovely noble darlings.

I got curious to find out if anybody – other than a few rare souls like myself – actually likes ferrets, so I poked around on the Internet to see if I could find a favorable quote. Lo and behold, I came upon this one from the novel Women in Love by D. H. Lawrence:

“Do come back and draw the ferrets, they are the most lovely noble darlings in the world.”

Have I ever read a D. H. Lawrence/s novel? No. Do I find anything that D. H. Lawrence wrote readable? Not really. Nor did I find him particularly compelling as an individual. He was, in fact, most peculiar. On the bright side, though, he was a monumentally successful author, never murdered anyone, and affirmed that ferrets – disdained by many – were once loved by somebody famous.

About the domestic ferret. Their scientific name is Mustela furo. They are descendants of the European polecat; they are also members of the weasel family. However, I choose to ignore that, because it is more illustrious to have a polecat as an ancestor than a weasel. Anyway, who would want to kiss a weasel?

Ferrets, like designer fabrics, come in a variety of colors and patterns. Most have caramel colored fur with dark masks around their eyes like Zorro. Angora ferrets have long hair and resemble the lint that one takes out of the dryer after washing a favorite sweater. Their colorings are also described as cinnamon, black sable, champagne, white, and chocolate.

My little girl Clementine (photographed here), is a sable ferret, and so tiny that her veterinarian – a ferret fancier herself – says she has never seen an adult ferret that small.

What do ferrets do? Well ... Well ... Maybe it would be easier to tell you what they don’t do. They don’t herd sheep; they don’t bring you your newspaper in the morning; they don’t save little Timmy when he falls into a well; and they don’t bark when a psychopath is about to break through your bedroom window. In fact, they don’t make any noises at all unless you step on them, and then they give a heart-rending yelp.

Despite their inability to perform chores around the house, ferret exhibitions are held throughout the country, which rather reinforces the questionability of ferret owners’ sanity. At these events, ferrets are judged for their abilities to escape from paper bags or to impersonate Elvis. There are also competitions for best yawner, best key stealer, best kisser, and best knocker-of-things-off-tables, all of which the entrants do with great joy and equanimity. Indicative of the generally low performance standards held by ferret owners is this quote from the Ferret Buckeye Bash, “any competitor who bites a judge will be immediately disqualified,” which seems to presuppose that, of course, a ferret will bite a judge.

If you give a ferret a Fed Ex mailing envelope, he will ecstatically scratch at the inside bubble wrap and love you forever. Ferrets, too, are remarkably adept at shredding paper towels, hiding in drawers, knocking over plants, and sneaking into refrigerators. Like humans who declare that hotdogs taste best when served at a ball park, ferrets believe that water has only been property seasoned after their owners have sloshed around in it at the bottom of a shower stall. And after said shower, most ferret owners would agree that it is unnecessary to dry their feet, as their ferret will do an excellent job of it for them.

What else can a ferret do? (I’m on a roll here.) Well, if you hold a raisin over its head, he will stand up on his hind legs and beg. He can also hear you buying ice cream five miles away, and when you get home, he will stare at you with starving eyes for hours until you surrender something – maybe another raisin – as a treat.

Which comes to what ferrets do best: they look at you. With hopeful, pathetic, helpless, innocent, please, please, please eyes. You may have just given your little guy a six-course meal. Doesn’t matter. He will still gaze up at you, his little black ferret eyes pleading, “I’m desperate here. Won’t you give me some ice cream? A sugar snap pea? A stroll through the heating duct system in your house?”

And that brings us back to my current roommate, Clementine. When people meet her, they are astonished by how petite she is; they are also attracted by her joie de vivre, her great skill at clambering up pants’ legs, and, of course, her irresistible pinkish-brown nose. Other ferret fanciers keep their roommates in cages. Not I. Clementine sleeps in a tangle of silk scarves in the bottom drawer of my night table. If she gets lonesome in the middle of the night, she just climbs into my bed. When I am off on an errand, she is restricted to my bedroom. But when I’m home, she has free run of the house (exclusive of ferret-proofed areas behind refrigerators, stoves, etc.)

Speaking of which, inquisitive people are said to be “ferreting” something out, because the animals themselves are hopelessly nosey. My husband used to call them “Getintos,” because there was nothing they wouldn’t get into. This makes their owners roll their eyes and exclaim, “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Ferrets also climb on your lap and insist on being petted when you are reading, performing delicate brain surgery, or watching TV, and they are great company for someone with a big enough ego not to care if his or her pet can’t remember who they are, never obeys, and makes them laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Laughter is the critical factor here, because there never has been and there never will be a dignified ferret. Puppies become dogs; and kittens become cats. But ferrets retain the eternal goofiness of youth. They live to play. And playing, they are irrepressible, mischievous, naughty, adorable, comical, and bold.

Which reminds me of something that Mae West once said about herself. Paraphrased, it perfectly sums up why we sane (or insane) ferret lovers keep the little scoundrels around the house:

“When they are good, they are very, very good. But when they are bad ... they are better.”

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2025. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit: www.shellyreuben.com