In Memorium: Seattle

Seattle (January 1997 to October 29, 1998)


In Memorium, our smallest ferret, Seattle

Seattle was a little chocolate jill with a big grin and a bigger heart. We said she was "Clueless in Seattle," but she did have one clue: she had learned her name and would come proudly when we called.

We brought her home from a rescue shelter in November 1997Seattle in a dresser drawer to be company for our first ferret, Ryoga. Seattle made herself right at home . . . underneath the refrigerator, in the dresser, in Ryoga's private sleeping space. Ryoga was quite distressed at first; evidently bachelor ferrets aren't accustomed to sharing sleeping space. But he got used to it. We all did, and used phone books to ferret-proof the refrigerator, and the OED to block off the dresser.

Seattle and Ryoga riotingSeattle was always exuberant. She and Ryoga rioted all over the place. She was quite the little copycat at first, and whatever Ryoga did, Seattle wanted to do also. Later, she developed her own tricks and games and peccadilloes. She danced excitedly if we dangled anything in her direction. She loved to stick her nose down the bathtub drain and snort; loved to climb to the top of the closet and throw down all the shoe Ryoga (on the left) and  Seattle (on the right) in full Riotboxes from the top shelf. From the first, Seattle had a passion for plastic bags, and would steal them and run upstairs, with the bag billowing behind her. These, and other occasional items, were stashed carefully under our bed (and she never seemed to mind that we promptly took them away again). Her last big project was to take a canvas tote bag upstairs and stuff it into her favorite dresser drawer; she spent weeks at that.

In mid-October, 1998, Seattle was diagnosed with an enlarged spleen, which the vet said should be removed.I had said goodbye to her that morning; Larry, when he left her at the vet's. Seattle just crawled into her canvas bag and peeked out, looking miserable and abandoned. She survived the surgery itself, but died immediately afterward in recovery.

Seattle, we wish you could come home again.

Seattle, coming back from stashing a plastic bag

When someone loves us very much, she goes on loving us always, and a little thing like death is not likely to get in the way.

Voyage of the Basset. James C. Christensen.
The Greenwich Workshop, Inc, 1996.