I was going to sleep late last night at about 2am - later than I wanted to in preparation for my Monday. I figured I'd do one last check on my fuzz-butts and went in there to take a look at them sleeping in the cage. I heard a strange noise so I actually sat there for a few minutes turning my head side to side before I figured out that the one ferret that I couldn't see clearly (sleeping tucked underneath Myrtle in their second-floor sleeping cube) - Simon - was breathing hard.
I took him out and carried him out in the front room while I lie him down gently on my chest while I watched some television in the background, all the while watching over my little baby. I know my ferrets are sick when they are lap-animals - otherwise even at their most affectionate they're looking to get away from you to explore somewhere or see something. Simon laid there and kept breathing arduously. I decided that I'd nurse him through the night and take him to the vet in the morning.
He was weak and would occasionally poop a little but I got some paper towel and let him lie there on my chest just the same. I never understood until then how a mother could be thrown up on by a sick child and not even notice it, but I do now. No matter what poop or vomit may get on you, you just want to hold the baby close and let them feel your warmth and know that you're there next to them and the poop is just a trivial and passing matter.
Eventually, I was too tired to stay up and laid him next to me on the couch, encircling him with my body and arms as I lay on my side, feeling his still arduous breathing against my skin.
And I fell asleep.
When I awoke, Simon's breathing was beyond arduous - he was gasping for it. He was also making soft whimpering sounds and I knew that it was too late to help him and that the end was near.
The tears came as I asked him softly to let go, "Let go, baby...it's alright...don't suffer anymore...let go, baby..." In the back of my mind I thought of gently and fully submerging him in water to take away his suffering, but I couldn't. I held him up and looked him in the eyes, stroking his fur softly, saying, "Please let go, my little boy."
His breathing became more labored and less frequent until finally he stopped altogether. With my hand holding him around his torso I could still feel his fast, ferret heartbeat. I put his body to my ear and listened as it slowed down, beat by beat, until finally a minute or two after he stopped breathing it beat one last time.
My baby Simon died at about 5:30 this morning. I buried him behind the house just outside the window into the ferret room.
I miss my poor baby Simon. I can't stop the tears.