Information
Tilly-Monkey
Legacy Name: Tilly-Monkey
The
Common PherretOwner:
ThistleAge: 7 years, 6 months, 3 weeks
Born: October 15th, 2016
Adopted: 7 years, 6 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: October 15th, 2016
Statistics
- Level: 41
- Strength: 61
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 72
- Books Read: 50
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Head of Adoptions
Her name, at first, was Molly, but our ferret rescue already had a Molly in the system. As her new foster parent, I came up with “Matilda”.
Only two years old, Matilda had been owned by people who only ever took her out of her too-small cage to be handled by their small children. Her cage had featured wood shavings, a no-no for ferrets, and she had been eating moldy cat food. As a result, Matilda was that rare thing – an obese ferret. Her abdominal area was so fat that her hind legs could hardly touch the ground, leaving her almost immobile. Her mostly bald skin was dotted with blackheads, and her muscles were atrophied, with wasting especially apparent on her limbs.
My first challenge, on taking Matilda home, was to set up a suitable cage for her. Normal ferrets love to climb and enjoy multi-level cages with hammocks or hanging pouches to sleep in. Matilda, or Tilly as I called her, couldn't use a ramp, couldn't climb into even the lowest hammock, and couldn't get into a litterbox by herself. Half of Tilly's cage floor was wrapped in cozy fleece with a blanket and “cuddle cup” bed, the other half was wrapped every night in a fresh potty pad, the kind meant for potty training puppies. Tilly was good about using this system.
Another challenge was her food. I had first provided her with the same high-quality ferret food I fed the rest of my gang. Tilly didn't recognize this as food. She did lunge for a sack of potatoes and start taking bites; which told me something about the terrible feeding practices she had been subjected to. She ended up being given cat food, but at least it was high quality and fresh.
Meanwhile, especially at first, Tilly and I spent our days together. I carried her around in a soft little child's tote purse, and she occupied a bed on my desk when I used the computer. I gave her physiotherapy sessions, helping her work her legs and brace her muscles. When she squirmed and tried to crawl, I would pop her into a handy litterbox and wait to lift her out and clean her bottom with a baby wipe.
As Tilly became more mobile, she spent more time on the floor, and became less scared of my other ferrets. She learned to "charge" at ferrets who came too close, and she also learned how to crawl into my “ferret traps” - blanket-lined storage boxes with access holes.
Tilly's feeding and exercise routine also changed as she progressed. Her cage now only held water, no food. Three times a day, I would place Tilly by the back door. She would scoot down the hall and through the kitchen, a distance of maybe twenty feet, to where the cats' bowls stood. Matilda would grab a bite of food to eat before I scooped her up and carried her back to the “starting line” to repeat the process. She would continue until she was full, with her final trip ending in the blanket piled on the floor, where she would curl up for a nap.
Tilly never held my “boot camp” tactics against me. She gave me kisses as I carried her. Over time her legs grew stronger, and she used them more normally. She lost almost half of her body weight, coming down to a healthy weight for a ferret of her frame size. She also learned to enjoy charging our three cats – any encounter along her feeding route resulted in Tilly taking the time to rush at them while fiercely squeaking defiance.
Her sweet but spirited nature and her odd looks resulted in a bunch of nicknames. Tilly Monster. Babyface. Tilly-monkey. Spunky Punky Chunky Monkey.
Despite all her progress, Tilly's earlier maltreatment had planted a ticking time bomb. Her heart had been badly affected, and after nine months with me, Tilly succumbed to congestive heart failure. She declined very fast, despite the vet taking every possible action, and at last she was helped to cross the bridge as I stroked her and told her I loved her. Since her body had failed her so much in life, I chose to have her cremated. Her ashes are still with me. I tell her story as an example of how much an animal's life can be impacted by improper care. Tilly is still remembered, and still loved.
Only two years old, Matilda had been owned by people who only ever took her out of her too-small cage to be handled by their small children. Her cage had featured wood shavings, a no-no for ferrets, and she had been eating moldy cat food. As a result, Matilda was that rare thing – an obese ferret. Her abdominal area was so fat that her hind legs could hardly touch the ground, leaving her almost immobile. Her mostly bald skin was dotted with blackheads, and her muscles were atrophied, with wasting especially apparent on her limbs.
My first challenge, on taking Matilda home, was to set up a suitable cage for her. Normal ferrets love to climb and enjoy multi-level cages with hammocks or hanging pouches to sleep in. Matilda, or Tilly as I called her, couldn't use a ramp, couldn't climb into even the lowest hammock, and couldn't get into a litterbox by herself. Half of Tilly's cage floor was wrapped in cozy fleece with a blanket and “cuddle cup” bed, the other half was wrapped every night in a fresh potty pad, the kind meant for potty training puppies. Tilly was good about using this system.
Another challenge was her food. I had first provided her with the same high-quality ferret food I fed the rest of my gang. Tilly didn't recognize this as food. She did lunge for a sack of potatoes and start taking bites; which told me something about the terrible feeding practices she had been subjected to. She ended up being given cat food, but at least it was high quality and fresh.
Meanwhile, especially at first, Tilly and I spent our days together. I carried her around in a soft little child's tote purse, and she occupied a bed on my desk when I used the computer. I gave her physiotherapy sessions, helping her work her legs and brace her muscles. When she squirmed and tried to crawl, I would pop her into a handy litterbox and wait to lift her out and clean her bottom with a baby wipe.
As Tilly became more mobile, she spent more time on the floor, and became less scared of my other ferrets. She learned to "charge" at ferrets who came too close, and she also learned how to crawl into my “ferret traps” - blanket-lined storage boxes with access holes.
Tilly's feeding and exercise routine also changed as she progressed. Her cage now only held water, no food. Three times a day, I would place Tilly by the back door. She would scoot down the hall and through the kitchen, a distance of maybe twenty feet, to where the cats' bowls stood. Matilda would grab a bite of food to eat before I scooped her up and carried her back to the “starting line” to repeat the process. She would continue until she was full, with her final trip ending in the blanket piled on the floor, where she would curl up for a nap.
Tilly never held my “boot camp” tactics against me. She gave me kisses as I carried her. Over time her legs grew stronger, and she used them more normally. She lost almost half of her body weight, coming down to a healthy weight for a ferret of her frame size. She also learned to enjoy charging our three cats – any encounter along her feeding route resulted in Tilly taking the time to rush at them while fiercely squeaking defiance.
Her sweet but spirited nature and her odd looks resulted in a bunch of nicknames. Tilly Monster. Babyface. Tilly-monkey. Spunky Punky Chunky Monkey.
Despite all her progress, Tilly's earlier maltreatment had planted a ticking time bomb. Her heart had been badly affected, and after nine months with me, Tilly succumbed to congestive heart failure. She declined very fast, despite the vet taking every possible action, and at last she was helped to cross the bridge as I stroked her and told her I loved her. Since her body had failed her so much in life, I chose to have her cremated. Her ashes are still with me. I tell her story as an example of how much an animal's life can be impacted by improper care. Tilly is still remembered, and still loved.
Pet Treasure
Fluttering Ferret Plushie
Diet Dry Cat Food
Ytiva Pet Bed
Pawprint Small Feline Bed
Spectrum Small Feline Bed
Fish Small Feline Bed
Torrent Shaped Feline Bed
Diet Dry Cat Food
Purple Bag of Friendship
Centropolis Pet Bed
Warm Kumos Bed Beanbag
Fleece Masquerade Throw
Beloved Fleece Throw
Pee Pad
Shower of Kisses
I-Love-You Rainbow
Spectrumbie
Angelic Chibi Rainbow Sticker
Prismatic Wings