How the Cat and the Ferret Became Enemies

The trap will be paid for by blood.

It was midnight and the moon’s pale crescent barely lit the darkness. Still, it was enough light for the ferrets’ keen eyes as they crept from the forest to the farm. Across the well-trimmed grass they scurried toward the henhouse, quietly so the rooster would not hear them and sound an alarm. There were dozens of them, their dark bodies moving in waves that seemed to make the dark earth ripple and boil with shadows. An occasional ferret would break the march, standing on his hind legs to better sniff at the night air—the scents and smells coming downwind from the coop were almost hypnotic to their keen noses—but another ferret would quickly overrun him, forcing him back on all fours to keep up the silent march. In just minutes they formed a circle around the henhouse; it was a sea of ferrets, predators with one thing on their minds—food.

In mass they swarmed the front door. Before the rooster woke up to see what was happening, dozens of his hens were already dead, their necks sliced by the ferrets’ sharp teeth and claws. Some they strangled by wrapping their long bodies around their heads and necks. They grabbed them with their teeth and dragged their lifeless bodies through the night, back to the forest.

In panic the rooster crowed. It was loud and shrill. He sounded several warnings, flapping and pecking at the ferrets that remained behind before they were able to slice his own neck. They left the rooster sitting there, gurgling and writhing in his own blood. Rooster meat was tough; none of the ferrets wanted to eat him.

By the time the farmer grabbed his machete and his lantern, they were gone and with them the bodies of his hens. He tapped the rooster with the toe of his shoe. When it lay still he knew it was dead.

The farmer was beyond angry.

The ferrets knew they would be blamed for the attack but they had a plan. Back at their den they ripped the feathers from the hens’ carcasses, packing all these into a bag. Just before sunrise they were outside the cat’s house. They dumped the feathers at her front door, and they watched as the gentle night breezes lifted and scattered them through her yard. Satisfied that this was proof enough that the cat had done the deed and not them, the ferrets ran home. Later today they would feast, gorging themselves on chicken.

Of all the animals that lived near town, the farmer knew the ferret was the one most likely to raid his henhouse. That morning he gathered all his neighbors; they were farmers themselves, and with machetes drawn they went to the ferrets’ den. As they approached they saw a single ferret keeping watch; all the others were inside preparing their meal. The angry farmer was at the lead; his face twisted with rage. The ferret showed no fear.

“Where are my chickens?” It was an accusation, and his voice was loud. It cracked with anger.

“What chickens?” asked the ferret. He showed no emotion.

“My chickens!” The farmer trembled where he stood, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the machete’s blade. “Last night some of your kind came around my henhouse and killed all my hens. You stole them. I want them back, dead as they might be.”

The ferret raised himself up on his hind legs to look more imposing. “If we have your chickens, sir, then why aren’t there any feathers?” The farmer’s posse looked around. There were no feathers in sight. “We’re not the neatest creatures, as you know. When we eat, we make a mess. If we had your chickens here surely you would see feathers.”

“Who would see what feathers?” asked another ferret as he came outside, shutting the door behind him quickly. The farmer tried to see past the door, but it was too dark inside, and the ferret was too fast closing the door. “What feathers are we talking about?”

“The feathers of my chickens!” The ferret noted that the farmer’s eyes were red as if he had not slept all night. “Your kind stole my chickens last night.”

“I take offense at that,” said the second ferret. “There are no chickens here. There aren’t even any chicken feathers here. Why don’t you go see the cat? As you know . . . cats love chicken.”

“We should go,” said one of the other men, putting a hand firmly on the farmer’s arm. “We should go see the cat. The ferret is right. If they had stolen all your chickens last night there would be feathers. Lots of them. There are none here.”

The farmer glared one last time as he backed away; and the group left their den to go see the cat. When they were gone another ferret peered out the front door. “They’re gone? Good. Dinner is served!” The three ferrets scurried back inside the house.

The farmer cried when he saw the cat’s yard littered in feathers. And when he saw the cat playing among them, his anger returned. He lifted his machete above his head and screamed but the others held him back. “Wait,” said one of the men. “This is too obvious. It doesn’t seem right.”

The cat froze when he heard the farmer scream, and when she saw the machete high above his head, she cowered. One of the men walked up to her. “Don’t be afraid, not unless you’re the one who stole the farmer’s hens.”

“What?” cried the cat. “I haven’t stolen anything.”

“But your yard is littered in feathers,” said the farmer. “Last night all my hens were stolen and their feathers are here. And you are playing in them.”

The cat sat back on her haunches, whipping her tail at a feather that flew too close to her face. “I woke up this morning to find my yard covered in feathers. I’ve been playing in them all day. But there are no chickens here. Feel free to look inside my house if you don’t believe me, farmer.”

He and his men did just that—they walked through the cat’s house. Inside were neither feathers nor meat. They came back out. “Then how do you explain all these feathers, cat?”

“I don’t know. Certainly if all your chickens are gone you don’t think I did it. I’m but a single cat. Your hens numbered in the dozens. Nor do I care who did it, as arrogant as you are. You have some nerve to come at me, an innocent cat, with a raised machete! But if your chickens were stolen last night, they’re probably being eaten today. Find the bones and then you will have your thief.”

“Those tricky, tricky ferrets,” said the farmer, the anger rising in him again. “They kept sliding in and out of their front door never letting us see what was inside. And they sent us here, to the cat. They are the thieves!”

“The ferrets?” asked the cat. “But the ferrets and I are friends. Why would they steal your hens and bring their feathers here?”

“Obviously they’re not your friends, cat. If you’d like to go with us you may. If they have the chickens, I’m sure you’ll have a few questions for them as well.”

“Indeed I will,” said the cat as she followed the farmers back to the ferrets’ den.

Back at the ferrets’ den no one kept watch at the front door. Silently the farmer and the cat crept close; they stood outside the door listening. They heard laughter, and the sounds of dozens of ferrets enjoying an afternoon meal. “They are feasting on something,” said the cat.

“Probably my hens,” growled the farmer.

From inside the door they heard a ferret say, “I need some fresh air. Don’t eat all the chickens while I’m gone!” The cat and the farmer stood on either side of the door, and when it opened, the farmer grabbed the ferret by the scruff of its neck.

“Go inside and see if they have my hens!” he ordered while the ferret struggled to get free.

Before the cat could rush inside there was a great scream and dozens of ferrets came rushing out the door. Even though the ferrets swarmed the front door, the cat could see over them; there were the hens—roasted and baked—their carcasses strewn about the inside of the den. “Your hens!” she cried. “They have your hens!”

The farmer wrung the neck of the ferret he held; it went limp and lifeless. The cat managed to slash a few with her claws. “How dare you all set me up!” she screamed as she mortally wounded a few. The other farmers slashed with their machetes, but most of the ferrets ran off into the forest, too afraid to look back.

When all the ferrets were gone the farmer sat with his back against the den; the cat curled next to him, and the other men gathered around them sorrowfully. “I am sorry I blamed you, cat.”

“Apology accepted. But you know that the ferrets will be back when you’ve replenished your coop. None of your hens will be safe.”

“How would you like a job?” the farmer asked the cat.

It was that day that the cat went off to live in the farmer’s barn; she kept watch at night for the ferrets, who were now her enemies, and the farmer pampered her well. She never wanted for a place to sleep or food to eat. And the ferrets, who were now known to be thieves, were forced to live in the forests and deserts all their lives. Instead of stable homes, they were forced to wander like gypsies from place to place.

But this is what happens when one steals what is not his, and this is what happens when one tries to set another up to take the blame for his own crimes.