So here's a post from 2009.
It's a day that feels like the perfect Bank Holiday Monday, even though it actually wasn't.
It’s not every day that Son of Whirl comes running into the study as I’m massaging my pecs with a rolling pin and cries, ‘Dad! Dad! Come quick! There’s a ferret in the garden!’
With only swimming goggles, Wellington boots, gardening gloves and a sou wester to protect me, I dashed — nay, was pushed — onto the lawn to “sort it out.”
Maybe I was expecting a stoat, or something weasely-dragony-deadly, with huge fangs, sharp claws and an up-yer-trouser-leg whoosh to rival Graham Norton on a blind date.
What I discovered was that ferrets are actually quite cute. At least, this one was. It looked like a miniature albino badger that had been stretched by a couple of wrestlers, and when I found it rolling around in the fresh compost by the potting shed, several things were immediately clear:
1) It was cu-uuuute.
2) It had no intention of running away, launching a ferocious attack on anyone or doing anything other than looking cu-uuuute.
3) The sou waster was an overkill.
The RSPCA couldn’t collect it till this morning, so we got to have a ferret in our greenhouse for the night, safely tucked away in Geoff’s travelling cat basket.
Did she like this?
She did not.