My ferret overlord

All right, who made me ferret-slave?

Not only does the ferret’s medication and feeding schedule rule my life at the moment, but he’s now decided that the only way he’ll eat the perfectly nummy ferret kibbles he used to gobble with alacrity is if I carefully hand-feed him the kibbles one piece at a time. Health-wise he really needs this food–it has vitamins, minerals, and other good stuff that his recent I’m-sick-with-the-touchy-tummy diet of chicken baby food lacks. So I have a vested interest in getting him to eat the “crunchies”.

After much cajoling and trying to sneak them into him, I’ve finally discovered that Taz-the-Picky will eat the kibbles if:

  1. He is comfortably lying on the settee in his red fleece sweatshirt where he can loll onto his back so that…
  2. I hold one piece at a time in front of his mouth, up against his non-existent lips and directly beneath his cute little freckled nose, and wait for him to deign to open his mouth, curl his tongue around the kibble chunk and then masticate it vigorously–resulting in scattered bits of kibble in the red blankie and all over the settee.
  3. I clean up the spilled kibbles so he won’t have to lie on them–likes peas under mattresses are to princesses, so are kibbles in bed to Taz.

I hope he’s not expecting any turkey for thanksgiving, because with this precedent, he’d probably expect me to catch and cook it myself to his exacting recipe and then offer it to him in precise 1″ square slabs not to exceed 6mm in thickness or some such thing.

Although at this point I’d probably do it just to get him to eat something!

Sigh I am but a slave to my ferret overlord.

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About Kat Richardson

Writer, editor, eccentric pain in the tail, bestselling author of the Greywalker novels.
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