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A Letter to Beelzebub

October 28, 2013


It’s been a month to the day since I had to let you go, and not a day has passed that I am not painfully aware of your absence. The whole gang is more subdued, so I know it’s not just me. We are all grieving here.

I know that nothing was the same for you once Popcorn left for the bridge. I tried to help you forget, but that was a useless endeavor. You still mourned, even as you slept and played with a number of new companions. I watched you eat less, lose weight, and lose that playfulness that brought me so much laughter. Eventually, you got some of it back, but it was never quite the same for you, was it?

The one thing that didn’t change was your affection. Even when Popcorn was still here, you were my cuddle bug. You were just as happy to sleep in my arms or on my chest as you were snuggled in your favorite hammy. You often stuck out your tongue and whimpered in your sleep, and every single time you did, my heart melted more. I’d hold you like that for an hour, sometimes two, before you were ready to go back to your hammy.

I should’ve known that precious time would be over too soon. Isn’t that the way it always goes? We people get so distracted by the stress and drama in our lives, we often forget to appreciate what we have. And it wasn’t that I forgot to appreciate you, my BB. But I would’ve paid even more attention, taken more pictures, looked for ways to give you new adventures and treats. I always knew you’d be the first to go, but that’s cause I had you first. I still hoped and prayed that the bridge would be years away. I truly was not ready to let you go.

I’m still not ready.

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Beelzebub and Popcorn were partners in silly. I’ve never seen a happier pair of fuzzies.

You are sitting right beside Popcorn on my headboard, slightly more than a foot from where I sleep and dream. I saved your last N-Bone for you, and every night I sleep with your blanket. It’s not a good substitute for you, not even close. I’ve looked at pet psychic sites, because I am that desperate to hear from you and to find some way, no matter how ‘out there’ it sounds, to let you know how much I love you, and how badly I am missing you.

Maybe what I’m looking for is someone to tell me it really was time for you to make your journey. Because no matter how logical I try to be, I’m just not sure. When they tried to put the gas mask on you, you fought it. It could’ve been that the gas was smelly, and that you’ve always fought things like medicines and nail trims, even when you realized you ‘liked’ the medicines, or enjoyed the tone you’d get to distract you as your claws were trimmed. I tried to keep you calm, but you were not gonna lay there and take that mask calmly. Even the vet tried to calm you. He was very nice about it all, and assured me afterwards that the tests he ran confirmed that your little body was riddled with the cancer. He said what we did was an act of mercy. But what I need to know is if you think we were merciful. Everyone says that our fuzzies will let us know when it’s time, however, I’m not sure you were ready. Nothing has scared me more than the possibility that there was more we could’ve done to help you. I worry that the vet might not have told me about possible things that could make you more comfortable and prolong your life. Please, please believe me, baby. I would’ve done those things in a heartbeat, had they told me of them. I would not ever want to take even a second away from you.

But I didn’t want to be so selfish that I couldn’t see your pain. It was obvious something was wrong. You were starting to breathe heavy, in a way I’ve never seen. When they said they couldn’t give you the shot, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just take you home. But then I had no way of knowing how much pain you were in. I didn’t want you to hurt. I didn’t want you to be scared. And I know that when it was all said and done, you just went to sleep. We should all be so lucky to go that way, I guess. But it wasn’t a decision I wanted to make. Please know that I only wanted the best possible outcome for you, BB. They told me that was it. My heart is still not sure of that, but then, it’s still very broken.

I’ve only had the one dream of you, so far, and it’s hard not to think it was a message. If it was, then I should feel more at peace with the choice I had to make. It was a beautiful dream. I remind myself of it all the time. But it’s not easy to reconcile making the decision to stop your heart and send you to the bridge. You weren’t even six years old. You deserved years to play, to be a silly, vibrant, lovable ferret. Why couldn’t I give you that?

It’s funny, I thought it would be easy to put my feelings into this letter, but it’s not. I am still crushed, still devastated. I can be fine one second, and the next second, feel like someone completely gutted me. That’s every day now. It has not gotten any easier.

I miss the way you would chase me around the room, and leap at me with your little claws open wide… and miss my leg by a foot. I don’t know if you really overestimated your jumps, or if you were just going for the laughs. I miss the way you always nibbled at my toes, especially if my toenails were painted bright colors. I miss the way you always insisted on laying on top of the N-bone bag and eating yours while it was in the bag, so none of the others could get to their treats. I miss your smell, your whimpers, and more than anything, I miss your kisses.

You were my very special fuzzy, BB. Where ever you are, I hope you remember what I told you that day. It is still as true now as it always will be. No other ferret will ever replace you in my heart, little one. You are my sunshine, my sweetheart. I hope you’ll come back to see me. And I hope when you do, I’ll know you’re there.

Eternally. There are no words. You are in my heart forever, my little angel.

I love you, Beelzebub.

Beelzebub's last Christmas. Such a sweetheart. He will always be this to me.

Beelzebub’s last Christmas. Such a sweetheart. He will always be this to me.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Britta permalink
    November 12, 2013 10:23 pm

    Hi Jezzy,

    I stumbled across your blog today from a link that recounted Azzy’s hilarious & adorable review of his stuffed star toy. I enjoyed reading your posts about how each of your different fuzzbutts came to own you and literally laughed out loud at some of the stories about them. You’re so lucky to have such sweet, goofy babies.

    After reading this post, I just really want to tell you that I am so, so sorry to hear that you had to let your little BB go. I think that BB & Popcorn both loved you very much and will surely be waiting for you at the Bridge.

    I lost 4 of mine last year to cancers/old age (the curse of getting cagemates around the same ages) so I know the terrible heartbreak you’re feeling. I feel like this post put into words how I was feeling about each of my little ones last year… wishing that I had more time, made more memories & took more pictures. I still have my little Maverick & Goose and I try to make sure to spend time with them as much as I can & pray for as much time with them as I can get.

    I know that no two ferrets are ever the same and that no other ferret could ever fill the holes left by the ones we have lost, but try to spend as much time as you can with your other little ones. Love them that much more and hug them a little tighter (when they’re not trying to squirm away from you, of course!) and you know this, but they will return your love & adoration 10 fold.

    I know we have never met, but I am sending hugs your way! I hope that each day that goes by gets a little easier.

    Best Regards,


    • November 13, 2013 1:17 am


      Thank you so very much for that sweet comment. I really appreciate the feedback, and if I was able to bring you any laughs, then that makes me very happy.

      I still have 6 other ferrets I need to profile. I should have done that a long time ago, and now I’m kicking myself for slacking on the posts. It was hard to think about it while I was grieving… not that I’ve stopped… but I adore every single one of my babies, and it’s time to give each of them their spotlights.

      I am so very sorry to hear about your fuzzies. I cannot imagine how horrible that must’ve been to lose them so quickly. And here I thought I was having a bad year. I’m sure that Maverick and Goose (Top Gun?) are really enjoying all the love and attention they are getting.

      Many hugs right back at you, and your babies. May we all have brighter days ahead.



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