Ferreting Out Backers to Change a State Law

Brutus and Fidget were adoptees, but they seemed like family. Sandra Epps whiled away long days with them in Pennsylvania. When she was sad, they seemed intuitively to understand. She liked to watch them sleep, on their backs with their feet in the air.

But when Epps’ husband, Kevin, was transferred to California in May, Sandra’s adopted ferrets became personae non gratae. California law bans all pet ferrets except neutered males with permits, as a threat to native animals, small children and livestock.

So Epps, 21, of Vista has begun a crusade to free ferrets victimized by California law. She is drafting a letter to the director of the Department of Fish and Game and is hoping to rally other aggrieved ferretophiles.

“If California is afraid of ferrets destroying their agriculture . . . our Brutus and Fidget wouldn’t want to be bothered walking anywhere in the California heat just to eat a few bits of fruit,” Epps wrote in one letter. “They’re quite content eating their dry cat food. We’ve never heard them ask for any agricultural products!”

Unfortunately, the state recently reaffirmed its stance on ferrets, according to Marilyn Bonin, a Fish and Game spokeswoman. Among other things, Bonin said, there is documentary evidence of the weasel-like creatures having mauled human babies.

Meanwhile, Epps pines for Brutus and Fidget.

“They’re home with my mom and I miss them terribly,” she said sadly. “ . . . The day we left, my mom even took a picture of us holding them. And she sent it to me. I cry every time I look at them.”

Ashes to Ashes . . .

Claude Hubbs’ ashes materialized Thursday in the mailbox of St. Mary’s Star of the Sea Church in Oceanside, packed tidily in a cardboard box. An envelope indicated there had been a 1982 cremation. It named a mortuary with a post office box in El Sobrante, Calif.

“I didn’t think anything,” said Father Mario Vesga, the parish priest. “First of all, it was in a brown bag. Then I looked in. I was a little bit surprised to see that. But nowadays I guess you don’t get shocked by much. Downtown Oceanside is an exciting place.”

Knowing no Hubbses, he called the Oceanside police. They came by and took custody of the box. Then they called the coroner’s office, which is to take charge later this week.

“The reason is that it is a body--not in a recognizable form, but it is a human body,” said Police Sgt. Bill Krunglevich. The coroner’s office will try to return the ashes to the mortuary. If that’s impossible, it will hire another to spread them at sea.

“These ashes belong to somebody,” explained Deputy Coroner Robert Grubb. “Whoever that was chose to get rid of them. We will do the same thing, in the cheapest way possible.”

Building Now Surplus

One more downtown San Diego landmark fades away this week when Aaron Ferer’s Outdoor Headquarters closes down the giant aquamarine warehouse that has graced the corner of Market Street and Pacific Highway since the turn of the century.

Taken over in 1947 by the Ferer family, the football-field-sized brick building served for years as a military surplus store. Deprived of surplus after the U.S. withdrawal from Vietnam, the family eased into discount camping and outdoor equipment.

But late last week, all that remained were a few canteens, tarpaulins, thermoses and sleeping bags. Ben Cohen, the current owner, said less than $1,000 worth of merchandise remained of the $250,000 worth that went on close-out sale earlier this summer.

Among those creatures to be displaced when the building is replaced shortly by a luxury hotel is a community of feral cats that use the building as a pied-a-terre , setting off the infrared-ray burglar alarm over and over again at night.

Learned the Hard Way

Rose Lynne--gadfly, “ombudscientist,” self-appointed tutor to mayors--was back in City Hall Monday after her two-hour weekend encounter with Mayor Maureen O’Connor, this time demanding a return engagement to recoup 20 minutes allegedly frittered away in banter.

“Much of the good humor we enjoyed during the two hours cut off my time,” said Lynne, a 72-year-old City Hall fixture profiled in a 184-inch cover story in The Reader last week. “She still owes me 20 minutes. . . . I want those 20 minutes--and 10 minutes of evaluation!”

O’Connor spokesman Paul Downey suggested we not hold our breath.

The mayor, who had made a campaign promise to Lynne that she would listen to her ideas, had expressed optimism that if she agreed to take Lynne’s two-hour “ombudscience” course, Lynne would take up less of the City Council’s time in future.

But on Monday, during the first of Lynne’s several speeches, O’Connor could be seen turning to Councilman Bill Cleator, not known for his commitment to “ombudscience.” According to her spokesman, Paul Downey, O’Connor conceded: “Mr. Cleator, you were right.”