Paco

Before we go much farther, I should tell you about Paco. I'm writing from a place of loneliness and nostalgia tonight, caught up in the reveries of good times and good friends long since past. I suppose that makes me haunted, and I wonder if my expression belies that. It's a good time to write of the one lost pet that will make me cry every time.

Paco was a cinnamon boy, with dark red eyes that shone like rubies. I had never owned ferrets before, but had studied hard to become something of an expert on them. I was deeply lonely and wanted pets I could care for without taking on the more conventional commitment of a cat or dog. I arranged a visit with a local ferret rescue, just to be around some of the exotic little creatures that had caught my eye. The first ferret I met was Frank, who you know I still have. Next I met Minnie, and I'll talk about her another day. Then there was Paco.

Already an elderly ferret at five plus years, Paco needed a forever home. The lady in charge of the rescue warned me Paco was well past his prime, but I loved him instantly as he snuggled into my lap for a nap. I stayed with them for hours debating who to take with me when I left. To rescue lady's delight and endless amusement, I decided to take not one, not two, but three fuzzies to start my own ferret business. (Here's a bit of trivia - multiple ferrets are called a business.)

I had owned dogs and cats in my life, but I never bonded with an animal the way I wrapped my soul around Paco. I crooned lullabies to him, I bundled him close and read my books aloud to him, and on the days when I couldn't take the unbearable darkness of the night, I held him tight and cried buckets of tears into his course fur. He never minded.

Paco was always a lap ferret. Every evening when I got home from work, I would sit in my favorite chair to read while Paco stretched out in my lap like he'd always lived to do nothing else. When he'd get up and get ready to go to his own bed, I'd sing him to sleep. Our favorite was an old Neil Young tune - "I want to live with a Cinnamon Boy - I could be happy the rest of my life with my Cinnamon Boy..."

During the ice storm of 2007, Paco was one of the merry three that kept my mother and me company for the endless days without power. He was in his own version of heaven with her entire basement to run free in and hundreds of plastic sacks to scatter about the house before curling up to sleep in the last one in a warm corner.

I lost my cinnamon boy to leukemia on Mother's Day 2007. I've never experienced such pain. I've buried good friends, my grandparents, and my father. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I mourned longer and harder for Paco than I did for any of them. We had almost eight months together, and I've dedicated this Ferret Haven to his memory.