Good-bye, Pirate

God, I hate saying good-bye. I still remember the day in January 2007, right after the ice storm, when I met Pirate for the first time. Holly at the Fuzzy Furbabies ferret rescue brought out this big albino white ferret draped over her arm like a sack of flour. He had the most pitiful story I've heard - found in an abandoned house by some neighborhood children, skin and bones, dying of malnutrition, terrified of the dark. Holly nursed him back to health and entrusted me to give him a forever home. His distinguishing feature? Only one of his beautiful pink eyes remained. Her niece had named him the most obvious thing she could think of for a one-eyed ferret with a survival streak a mile wide. So, Pirate he was.

For a little over three years, Pirate lived like a king. He was the happiest fuzzy in the Haven, I think, because he had known the darkest side of humanity. He knew how good he had it here, and so he fought on against ulcers, an enlarged spleen, enlarged prostate and the blind eye. He knew how powerfully his humans loved him, and so he stayed far longer than anyone expected him to.

This afternoon, though, it was time for him to go over the rainbow bridge. He'd been losing weight and getting more feeble for the last week, and when he started crying from pain, we knew it was time. I rushed home from work and we took him to the vet for the shot to take the pain away. I'll see him again, I pray, along with all the others we've loved and lost along the way. Good night, my sweet little fighter. You were such a good fuzzy, and I miss you so much.