Santa's Little Ferret

By Alyce Wilson
(InYourTown.com, Dec. 2000)

It's time for that dreaded question: What do you want for Christmas? Other than world peace, a life-sized cardboard standup of David Bowie as Aladdin Sane and Rocky's golden Speedos from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I can't think of a thing I want. The truth is, I've always had more fun coming up with presents for other people.

Andy and Ferret
Christmas 1992 stands out in my memory. I was a senior in college, my brother was a sophomore, and my sister was still in high school. As always, we gathered at my mom's for the holiday. My brother had a sweet little ferret called Emily, named after the Pink Floyd song "See Emily Play." If ferrets can smile, she did constantly. She loved games like "Car", where my brother put her in a shoebox, made vroom sounds, and ran the box all over the carpet. Emily could have been a circus ferret, riding bareback on the family dog, laughing her little ferret laughter.

That Christmas, my brother was in festive spirits, wearing a red and white Santa hat around our small hometown, which seemed doubly small after returning from college. This gave my sister and me a brilliant idea. We would make Emily a matching elf hat for Christmas.

The first step, buying the materials, was easy. We selected a square of green felt, some 1/8-inch white elastic, cotton, and a teeny white ball.

The difficult part was putting it together. When our dad suggested a trip to the mall, my sister and I made excuses, but my brother, a perennial last-minute shopper, had no choice but to go.

With my brother safely out of the way, my sister and I pounced on Emily. My sister held her and talked nicely to her as I measured out the felt and the elastic. A short time later, we were ready for the fitting. The hat fit perfectly, and Emily laughed as she ran around the room wearing it. It didn't even fall off when she played hide-and-seek behind the couch, as if taunting us: "Thanks for the hat! Now try and get it."

As the car was pulling into the driveway, we swooped Emily up, pulled off the hat, and acted innocent.

On Christmas morning, I barely paid attention to my presents, because I was so excited about Emily's. My sister and I had wrapped it in Christmas paper with a tag that said, "From Santa, to Emily. Ho ho ho!"

Finally, the big moment arrived. My brother opened the package and pulled out the hat. At first, a quizzical look crossed his face. Then he smiled as broadly as Emily.

"An elf hat!" he exclaimed. We insisted he put it on her immediately and model for some pictures. We held a photo session with my brother in his Santa hat and Emily in her matching elf cap.

I hardly remember anything I got that year, although from looking at the pictures, I recognize a purple flannel shirt I've loved so much that I've worn holes in both elbows, and a VCR that's long since ended up in the trash.

Emily is gone, too. She disappeared one day from my brother's apartment. While he always secretly blamed his ferret-hating roomie, we never knew for sure. I prefer to think that one day, Emily found a higher calling. She packed her shoebox, grabbed her elf hat, and made her way to the North Pole.

I mean, how do you think St. Nick gets the goodies in all those stockings?

 
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