Pandora was the queen of our busyness. She was the first ferret to join our family; actually, she was the first pet to join our home. We adopted Pandora on Labor Day weekend, just a couple of months after Julie and I were married in 1999, so she was with us just shy of a full eight years.
Needless to say, as an ambassador to her species she was successful. I’ve heard it said that one will either love ferrets or they will hate them. Once Pandora joined our family, it wasn’t long before we adopted four more—much to her chagrin. Every other ferret that I’ve ever met loves to be completely social and would be very lonely as an only pet. Pandora, however, was often quite aloof with the other ferrets, and frequently hissed her displeasure at their rowdiness. She seemed to prefer to spend time alone with her humans.
Pandora was never too tired or excited to give kisses. In fact, she could lick your nose for as long as you were willing to hold her up to your face. More often than not, it was your nose that fatigued before her tongue.
She started out as a gorgeous dark sable point and continued to roan over her long life. By the end, she was looking very much like the mythical dark-eyed white.
She loved just being with her humans and we couldn’t have asked for a better companion. Of all our ferrets, Pandora was the only one who made you earn her respect. Industrious, stubborn and regal; she taught me that if you can’t beat them—you still don’t have to join them. The Queen is dead; I do not think there will be another. God bless you, Pandora.