Keeping Clean

Keeping Clean

 

 

 

It’s afternoon and the bright and sunny weekend at The Palm hotel and casino was being enjoyed by winners and losers alike, though one of the cheaters was having a particularly bad day, drawing attention from flashy dime slots and boisterous house dealers as he was grasped firmly in the clawed paw of a panther bouncer, his slender and slinky lower half swinging as he was roughly escorted to the exit, down the two rows of Corinthian columns that flourished at the top to resemble palm trees, smaller versions of the casino, which were of course used as a casino strip connected by tunnels with glass ceilings for the smaller guests that doubled as a fancy pattern of floor tiles for the larger guests. Many tiny eyes from these structures followed the accused cheater as he kicked and protested against his harsh treatment.

 

“They aren’t mine, I swear!”

 

Heads turn to see an infamous weasel wearing his trademark undershirt under nothing denying any wrong doing. Murmurs are exchanged between guests.

 

“It was a set up! You know I have enemies!” Duke Weaselton cried.

 

“Put him on mute, will ya?” A fashionable black suit wearing gerbil commanded, hitching a ride on the bouncer’s shoulder.

The pather bouncer stuffed Duke’s mouth with two red dice. Protests continued muffled, but more desperate and the squirming doubled.

“All the way to the curb, if you will.” The gerbil instructed further, “Ya know where to leave the trash.”

 

The bouncer dropped Duke on the hard and hot sandstone pavement, leaving him to contort his tube like body in a broken furry circle, knocking the wind out of him and subsequently the dice which rolled briefly on the ground. The resulting five and two would be impressively ironic, had they not been Duke’s special dice.

 

A tiny voice could barely be heard: “Come back and I’ll have ya tied in a knot, weasel!”

 

Approaching from the casino, a familiar deep and booming laugh. The voice was bigger than the source, as a fennec fox wearing a black button-up shirt with a stylish color splash in the form of a red stripe running up his right front side and complementary forest green shorts. It’s Finnick, walking through the revolving door and towards the ousted weasel while pocketing his winnings that made up a nice wad of cash.

 

“I don’t know what the funniest thing about this is!” the fox said, drawing closer, “Oh wait, no I do: It’s the fact that you thought you COULD!” His laughter somehow intensified.

 

Recovering and straightening himself up, Duke bitterly replied, “Yeah, yeah. Hey, isn’t it about time for baby’s afternoon nap?”

 

“And miss this? Not a chance.” The small fox gave a toothy grin.

 

Duke collected his dice and walked off saying, “I ain’t no show, so you can go ahead and buzz off before I start charging admission.”

 

“Maybe you should!” Finnick followed, “But I bet that would resemble a line of work too honest for ol’ Dirty Duke!”

 

Duke tried to ignore him and continued walking.

 

“Ah man,” he continued, “You’re so bad at this, if you could quit you would have years ago!”

 

Duke approached a shuttle stop adorned with the metallic green awning tastefully textured with a pattern of palm tree leaves and goes to the firetruck red ticket vending machine for small mammals. It’s positioned between the one for tinier mammals and the one for mammals more in the range of what they’d consider medium.

 

“Hey, I got some totally legit side hustles, so I can quit this anytime I want. I’m just having too much fun being a free,” he pulls out his wallet, “mammal…” and opening it reveals nothing but a couple of quarters, some string, and two moths that came flying out, much to Duke’s dismay. He swatted and grasp at the air, vigorously trying to catch them, “These moths must be worth something, right?!” He unleashed a pitiful whine as he fell to his knees, giving up to instead covering his face in his hands, mourning himself. Too broke to even ride.

 

The sweet sound of crisp paper uncrumpling followed by that lovely dirty inked paper scent caught the attention of his twitching nose between crooked whiskers. His head slowly turned and he uncovered his eyes to see Finnick presenting a bill for five bucks.

 

“For the show.” He said, dropping it as he turned to leave, “Ciao!” He exited with a malicious chortle.

 

Duke desperately scurried to catch it before the wind could carry it away. He shot a glare at Finnick as he walked away, wishing a gust of wind would just lift him by his freakishly huge ears and remove him from this planet, if not just this city. It was then he noticed him tucking a large wad of cash into his tiny pocket, all while laughing that obnoxious laugh. Then his eyes darted to the casino they both came from then to the bill he left him with. Then back to the lucky little fox.

 

Finnick’s stroll was interrupted by Duke, who sprinted then slowed down to a jog then an eventual stop in the fox’s path.

 

“What’s this, an encore?” Finnick smugly tilted his head as he looked up, now at a complete stop.

 

“A bet.” Duke looked down on him, trying to match his smugness with condescension, at least in his posture.

 

“A bet? But you got no money, no luck, and I ain’t about to roll those loaded dice with you.”

 

“It’s not a dice game, it don’t require luck, and as for the money… well how about you just name it instead?”

 

“How ‘bout you start by naming the game?”

 

“It’s a game of Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is. You said you don’t think I can live honestly. I say I can...” a brief look of doubt crossed his face as he thought for a second, “For a month.”

 

“A whole month?! You sure about this? I don’t know how many morals you can afford on your budget…” Finnick turned to walk past him, but the temptation was too great so he cast him a sideways glance and asked, “How much?”

 

“400 bucks.”

 

“400 bucks you don’t have!” scoffed Finnick, “But fine, I’ll name it: You win, I give you the 400. I win, you give me your entire Disneigh bootleg collection. The good ones! None of that shaky cellphone camera garbage.”

 

“Fine-“ Duke put a paw forward to shake on it, which was just about met by Finnick.

 

“AND…” Finnick withdrew his comparatively small paw, “You gotta watch it with me.”

 

Duke hesitated, but gave in, “Fine!”

 

As they shook on it, Finnick exhaled a single loud laugh as he quickly turned to his smartphone, “Oh, I am canceling my Netfox subscription right now!”

 

“Shouldn’t that wait about a month?”

 

“Why bother? For now, imma be watchin’ YOU!”

 

Finnick exits once again with laughter as Duke turns the opposite direction, suddenly uneasy. He turns around to do a quick search on his phone, furiously typing into Zoogle “totally legit side hustles.”

 

 

 

Day 1:

A carwash seemed easy at first. Tiny mouse cars are easy money. Those collar popping gerbils were very particular about their little sport’s car, but a few gentle scrubs and they were satisfied. As the size categories increased, so did the difficulty. Exponentially so. With the larger mammals, their cars had to be climbed and traversed, dragging the wash rag across great distances. Some patiently tapped away at their phones while others grew more impatient and rude. The final straw was being used as a sham by a grizzly bear.

 

Day 3:

Duke spent perfectly still and spray painted silver in a large mammal mall, too small to be noticed, too dedicated to find a better location.

 

Day 6:

Duke decided to see how much money his money maker might make. Dancing on a street corner with a box for collecting money. He pulled out a string of his best dance moves. Popping and locking rhythmically to music on his phone. He topped if all off with his coup de grace: A worm so perfect only the tube dude family could ever hope to pull it off. However, in mid flop, his eyes caught exposed cash in some passing by beaver’s pocket, perfectly level with himself. He wormed closer, his senses tingling with the perfect pickpocketing opportunity, but he pulled himself back and redirected his momentum to catch himself on the palm of his paw, go into a handstand, twirl, then hit the ground to lay on his side in a pose that exuded more confidence than his tired face. He was all smiles, however, when the change started raining in, even when he was hit by some of the heavier coins.

 

While running around trying to gather what he had been given, there was a whistle and a jam more aggressive than Duke’s basic jams booming out of a boom box, a combination that was enough to steal the attention from him. There, out dancing him, was a show horse wearing a cowboy hat who worked in some familiar moves in with his regular gait. At the end of his aggressive clip clop tap dancing, was flourishing hat trick that resulted in the hat that was larger and more welcoming to the various sizes of cash that the Zootopians had on them hitting the ground in front of him, queuing the audience to pay him.

 

Duke was naturally upset, “Hey wait pal, this is my-“

 

Louder and edgier still, the crowd’s attention was now drawn to a herd of matching track suit wearing gnu, perfectly in sync with each other’s moves as they flipped off of each other and landed with professionally choreographed grace. To this the crowd went wild, some going back to Duke to retrieve a few bucks previously donated to him to give to the more talented mammals.

 

“No you can’t-!”

 

He was too late to stop them from taking it back. By then cheers could be heard as crowds of dancing people rushed in to be part of the impromptu festivities, complete with tiger dancers stripping down to reveal that they always wear their iconic provocative dancing shorts.

 

Day 7:

Duke sits at a coffee shop looking through an old paper, looking through the classified ads.

 

“I swear this town’s out to get me!” mumbled Duke, who was enjoying a nice free cup of water. He looked around and couldn’t help but notice the proportions of the clientele: A size category taller than him sitting in chairs where back pockets were conveniently shoulder length by adult weasel standards. In his head, he was sizing up the marks. Fatter wallets that rested in looser pants, sticking out as the shorter pockets couldn’t contain the length of the billfolds. They were calling to him. Singing his name as he walked by. The one that sang the loudest was in the pants of a sheep so wooly he wouldn’t feel a thing. He was so close, he could smell the imitation leather when a loud squealing caught he directed him. Perhaps because he trained his body to react to police sirens.

 

“Oooh they DO have those tiny cake pops here!” the voice was familiar, though it usually smelled of donut.

 

Duke, able to think thoughts not related to wallets and pockets, recognized Clawhauser, a pudgy face he’s seen on multiple bad occasions.

 

He noticed that a number of his criminal inclinations had subsided in the presence of the authority figure. A thought crossed his mind that was soon overridden by his feelings of self-preservation as the possibility of an outstanding warrant he had forgotten about crept in. He thought it best to slip away unnoticed.

 

“Duke? Duke Weasleton??”

 

At least he got the name right.

 

“Heeeyyyy, Office Clawhauser,” there was no point in pretending.

 

“Nice to see you!” he closed the distance between them, which made the weasel reflexively step back a little. Something so tall and wide rapidly approaching does that to a mammal, “Well, now that it’s somewhere other than the police station! You staying out of trouble?”

 

“Actually...” he said with a pause, carefully choosing what to reveal to the off duty cop, “Yeah.”

 

Clawhauser gave a toothy grin, “That’s so good to hear!”

 

The cheetah handed one cake pop from the bundle he had collected and handed it to the weasel who was instantly enticed.

 

“I believe in rewarding good behavior and-“ he jerked his hand back, along with the treat, “-Oh, that isn’t demeaning is it?” his face was sincere, “I didn’t want to treat you like you were like a child because you’re small, but because-“

Duke’s stomach growled. He swallowed his pride as an appetizer and said, “No don’t worry about that just… continue doin’ what you were doin’.”

 

“Oh, well, here you go!”

 

Duke grabbed it and greedily ate it up, appreciating the nutrients more than the intricate flavors of the bitter/sweet, dense mash cake ball coated in chocolate, drizzled caramel and sprinkled with sea salt with a chewy paper center. He had bitten off too much, but it at least tasted like he wasn’t going to starve to death living honestly.

 

He knew the chubby feline well enough to hustle him. He knew he had a good nature that was easy to take advantage of, but at this moment, in this situation, maybe the truth would do just as well.

 

“Hey uh, listen, Officer-“

 

“Ah- ah- ah! Please just call me Benjamin,” he drops five white sticks in a waste basket, relieved of their sweet goodness, “Out here and out of uniform, I’m just a regular cool guy!’

 

“Benjamin. I’m trying to stay gold, but the city is a dark and cruel place!” A patron at a table behind them loudly unfolded his paper to page 3A, revealing the front page of a festive, smiling city with a headline that read ‘CITY UNIFIED IN JOYOUS DAY OF DANCE’,

 

“Especially to small,” he paused to carefully choose his euphemism, “formally self-employed mammals who have taken part in extralegal business ventures.”

 

Ben’s ears drooped in sympathy, “I can’t imagine what that’s like and I’ve got a wonderful imagination.”

 

“It’s terrible!” Duke’s frustration showed for a split second before redirecting, “But I want to learn how to be good.” He remembered this was supposed to be an honest plea, “Or at least neutral.”

 

“Well I am surprisingly available, so sure, I’ll help you out!” he chuckled, satisfied with his little project, “It’ll be less paperwork for us in the long run!”

 

 

 

An intense look on Duke’s face defines his determination and dedication. His goals were right in front of him and the youth anthem had him really feeling it. He runs on a treadmill that’s massive for his size, but the controls on the side are at a relatively comfortable height for him to reach. Still it seems like four weasels could run comfortably side by side on this machine. These convenient and inclusive features are a signature of Ferret Fitness, a judgment free zone where Benjamin goes to make sure he can at least maintain his weight on his diet. A place that Duke suddenly realized had nothing to do with living honestly.

 

“What are we doin’ here?” Duke hit the stop button and walked towards Benjamin.

 

“Cardio!” replied Ben, visibly reaching his limit as he jogs in his short black gym shorts and ill-fitting pink Gazelle brand tank top.

 

Duke kept his meaner thoughts to himself, “But why? What does this have to do with my problem?”

 

The cheetah interrupted the workout he so desperately needed by pressing a button. Slowing his jog to a walk and regaining his breath, he said, “Take- take a look around.” He swallowed, “What do you s-see?”

 

“Midlife crises, desperation, and yoga pants.”

 

Clawhauser stood beside him, saying as he put a paw on the back of Duke’s head, “Look… harder.” He then pushed his head down, directing his attention to the rubbery floor.

 

Towels littered the floor before machines in use and spoken for as people turned their backs on their property to use or, more obnoxiously, the ones that were claimed by idiots who thinks it’s okay to walk over to the water fountain between sets like there isn’t a demand for the only pectoral fly in the gym. And under their towels, as if Duke wouldn’t notice, valuables: Louis Mutton wallets, the newest phone from Ramsung, key chains with buttons that can be used to find unlocked cars.

 

Duke’s eyes darted from stash to stash, his face alight like a cub on Christmas, trying to decide which present to tear into first. He shut his eyes tight and winced, yanking himself back to reality.

 

He turned to his Anti-Santa and asked a restrained, “Why?”

 

“If you can survive an hour of this, you can make it through any situation crime free!” he shrugged his exposed spotted shoulders,

“Well, at least without stealing anything.”

 

“Is this even legal?” Duke crossed his arms and looked away in agitation, “This is entrapment or something… or something cruel and unusual!”

 

“Not if we go to Bug Burga afterwards! My treat!” his smile remained even as he checked his smartphone, “Ooops! Silly me, I forgot to set the timer!” he pressed a button and waited for a tone to prompt him, “Set a timer for one hour!”

 

Duke groaned as an automated voice called back, “Okay, timer set for 60 minutes.”

 

“Hey come on, help me give dirty looks to that bench hog.” Clawhauser led the way to a weight lifting bench currently occupied by a buff warthog and then cheered, “Upper body day!”

 

 

 

At the Bug Burga dine-in area, preds enjoyed a healthy dose of protein and an unhealthy dose of grease while listening to the latest repetitive pop songs and enjoyed the ironic fast food chain décor that showed pictures of hip groups of beautiful predators laughing, seemingly finding more pleasure in each other than in their meals that were depicted as more aesthetically pleasing than anything anyone actually got. Under one such hanging picture was our cheetah who had just finished chowing down and our weasel still working on his small order of fries, a laptop between them.

 

“Every good citizen needs to have a job!” said Clawhauser who took a break to sip on his cub soda, “No need to steal when you can get by on a livable wage! No time either!” he giggled at himself but then suddenly realized that the math behind figuring out a livable wage for a skinny weasel would be difficult for him as a fat cheetah, “Wait, what’s livable for a weasel?”

 

Duke was about to answer, delighted to inform a bigger mammal of the plight of those in his size category, but Benjamin wasn’t about to get into the socio-economic wage disparity between large and small mammals.

 

“Never mind, we’ll just leave that to the employers!” said Clawhauser before getting to typing.

 

The weasel was just happy to have something to eat while not making meaningful conversation.

 

“Wage: Open. Able to cover nocturnal-“

 

“I’m diurnal!”

 

“-diurnal shifts.” He stopped, looked back to Duke, and added a quick but sincere, “Sorry.” Hoping his ignorance wouldn’t hinder their relationship.

 

“People skills, natural salesman,” he paused to think of how to frame the next one in a positive light, “Entrepreneurial skills?”

 

“That sounds about right.” Shrugged Duke.

 

Ben’s typing stopped. “Now for your work history…”

 

Duke thought for a bit, “Going to have to shave off some odd-jobs. Let’s see, where to start? Started off as a courier for Dirty P, he introduced me to Crooked John who had me doing some… documents, CJ referred me to Straight-Up Criminal Keith who I… house sat for, and from there I branched out and found myself Doug and…. well, let’s forget about that part.”

 

Clawhauser’s optimism drained with each of these less reputable characters Duke gave him the pleasure of listing on the most incriminating resume ever.

 

“Anyways, I was a salesman last,” continued Duke, “Well I was a gambler last, but that didn’t last very long.”

 

The cheetah typed away, making some finishing touches, determined to salvage this.

 

“Just about done. Of course, I’m going to need you to fill in some blanks for me, but the general idea is still here.” He turned the laptop around, “Ta-da!” He threw in some jazz paws around the screen.

 

Duke got on the table and read it over. The classy font choice. Subtle use of color. The proper uniform spacing. All of it came together to form a tastefully minimalist resume.

 

“This is…” While Duke paused to choose his words as he scanned over the screen a second time, Benjamin gritted his teeth and drew his balled paws nervously to his chin, “This is better than anything I could forge!”

 

With a squeal and a shake, the cheetah enveloped the weasel in a big, soft, squishy hug, “Oooh you are SO employed!”

 

Duke briefly found himself between a big spotted cheek and the collar of a green polo. Getting an intimate whiff of another man’s musk mask was a fair tradeoff, so upon release all he did was let go of the breath he held along with any negativity, closed his eyes while he inhaled and then hunched over and rubbed his paws together mischievously.

 

“So after I put the finishing touches and get this printed up, where should I unleash this bad boy first?”

 

 

 

One trip to Stables later, the two find themselves back where the job hunt started.

 

“Bug Burga?!” Duke looked insulted, “Why here?”

 

“Why’d you wait until we’re back inside to ask?” Clawhauser shook his head, “Never mind, just try it out!”

 

“I’ve got too much work experience for this, pal!”

 

“It’s not forever! It’s just so you can pad your resume with a bit of... work experience you don’t have to completely omit!”

 

“Yeah it’s not forever, my man.” A wolf in a button up shirt and khakis, a typical manager uniform complete with Bug Burga name tag, “I’m Juan Lobosco, a manager, though I’m working on becoming a paperback novelist! Gotta put that degree to work somehow!”

 

Duke muttered to himself, “Degree in what? Sad-sackology?”

 

“What was that?” asked Juan.

 

“Nothing.” Duke was used to saying things too quiet for larger mammals to hear from way up there.

 

Clawhauser got the idea it was something negative, so he took initiative, “He said he’d take whatever job you have open!” he let out a nervous giggle, hoping he could sell it, “He’s just a little shy.”

 

Duke stomped and looked to Clawhauser, about to protest when Mr. Lobosco interrupted, “That’s great! We have some openings, though he’s going to have to shed his shyness before he tries out being a cashier.”

 

Duke raised a finger to say something, but was quickly snatched by the wolf.

 

“Let’s get you a uniform!” said Duke’s new manager, “Let’s see, I’m sure a ferret dude worked here like a month ago…”

 

“Good luck, Duke!” called Ben, waving, “Be good!”

 

 

 

The next week was the toughest of Weaselton’s life. Between nearly getting fried up with spicy crickets and being tasked with cleaning out the larger mammal toilets, he often thought about calling it quits and making off with some cash from the till to start up a new life in the Marshlands where he’d work for a fish hatchery and settle down there, bleeding the company dry as he sold some product on the sly at prices that couldn’t be beat. Plots like this would come to him daily until there came a day, some busy lunch rush, his dreaming was interrupted by Juan releasing an uncharacteristic growl as he slammed the phone down on the receiver. He emerged from his office cool and collected.

 

“Alright everyone! Good news and bad news,” he started, getting the attention of the six employees working, “Bad news: Jenkins won’t be making it in today and he’s suddenly not on the schedule in the foreseeable future. The good news is this is a wonderful opportunity in waiting tables for anyone willing to step up.” He paused to gauge the reaction, waiting for a volunteer, “Anyone?”

 

The mammals looked at the orders that had piled up, heard the hungry animal noises from the seating area, then to each other, each hoping some hero would be dumb enough to spend their shift bringing orders to impatient, ungrateful costumers.

 

Duke noticed this and the hustler in him, the one he had been holding back this whole time, saw an opportunity.

 

“Anyone?”

 

All he had to do was fight it back for a moment more.

 

“Come on, someone!”

 

The phone was ringing in the manager’s office. Perfect.

 

“Please!”

 

“I’ll be your food courier for a buck raise.” Said Duke. All heads turned to him.

 

“You’d be a waiter. And a buck?! You can’t be-“ Mr. Lobosco’s ears honed in on the ringing that chimmed once more faintly through his door, “You just started working here!”

 

“I want the title ‘food courier’ and, fine,” Duke paused to think, he really didn’t know what people made working honestly, “A fifty cent raise!”

 

A roar was heard followed by other growls. Juan could swear among the growls he heard the sounds of furious paws spelling out his doom in Yelk reviews. One more ring and he had had enough.

 

“Okay, fine, just get out there!” Juan grabbed the tray that had been sitting there for longer than he was comfortable with knowing,

 

“’Food courier’.” He dropped it assumingly into the waiting paws of the weasel along with a complimentary order of fried crickets as an apology.

 

Duke turned to face the gap between counter space that would allow him to exit the safety of the kitchen and the den of the patrons. Though the large tray he carried above him cut off a good deal of his vision, he managed to scurry forth.

 

He was familiar with the order thrust upon him, so he called out, “Order up! Bug Burga Delux no lettuce!”

 

“Over here! Finally!” came a voice.

 

Duke followed the voice and ran ahead, keeping the tray balanced as he did, “One more time, order up! Can’t see ya, mack!”

 

This time he only heard a roar coming from a table he could see through the crowd which he nimbly cut through while keeping his precious cargo safe from the legs and waists of larger mammals that may knock the food off the tray and onto the soda glazed sticky tile floor. Once he was in range of the table, he launched the tray to have it perfectly land and slide in front of the lion customer.

With a sprint, Duke made it back to the end of the food prep area to grab the next tray, get some direction as to where to take it, and take off scurrying to the appropriate table, arriving quickly after ducking and dodging the crowd with a grace one only obtains through years of petty thievery and a chase through Little Rodentia. Tray after tray makes their way to tables, with each delivery less growling and more sounds of satisfied munching and crunching.

 

Juan got to witness this after leaving his office, his ears perked to hear complaints, he was pleasantly surprised. Maybe one of those mammals on their phones is taking to social media with something positive for once. The orders were done and the drive thru was empty, so all the coworkers had a moment to appreciate their small and slinky hero. Tired from all the acrobatic scurrying, Duke enjoyed sitting down on the counter on top of an opened package of napkins meant for larger mammals a nice free medium drink, which was also meant for larger mammals.

 

The manager saw it fit to join in, “There’s our food courier! The tube dude putting the ‘fast’ back in fast food!” He went to carefully pat his back with a large grey paw, “I’m not just giving you you’re raise, I’m making you full time!” His pat turned into a grasp as he slid his body against his head, “We’re talking 40 regular hours, paid time off,” he moved his paw dramatically before them, as if to show a magical world where the most impossible dreams came true had stretched before them as he emphasized the word, “HEALTH INSURANCE!”

 

“I’m puttin’ in my two weeks notice,” Duke said bluntly.

 

Juan laughed a little as he returned from his dreamlike state with an, “Uh-What?”

 

 

 

Two weeks had passed, adding up to one month from the start of this bet and Duke was ready to claim his prize. He invited Clawhauser to the café they had met at earlier in the month not just because it was convenient for all three of them, but because subconsciously he felt sentimental about the location, the place he was saved by his chubby cheetah cherub. He’d never express it like that, not even under duress. Instead, he was telling the story of how he quit his job.

 

“So then he was all like, ‘UUH WHUUUT?!’” said Duke then laughing recalling his stupid face.

 

Clawhauser laughed along as if he understood, but he couldn’t hide his confusion for longer than two seconds, “So, uh-what? What made you quit?”

 

“The title is all I really wanted!” Duke showed off his fancy new Ramsung phone with his fancy new app, “You heard of Zuber? Well it’s kinda like that, but for couriers. Only problem is that you need to have at least some previous experience courierin’ for a real and legit company. After I hustled him into giving me that title, I was set.”

 

“Ah hah!” came a deep voice.

 

The two snapped their heads to see the wooly back of a sheep wearing nothing but an orange tank top, it’s fleece bulging through the sides and back. Their eyes scanned the sheep, trying to figure out the source of the voice. Then out popped Finnick’s face out of the wool, starring accusingly at Duke. His ears followed, blooming outwards. Clawhauser let out a girly scream at the surprise while Duke’s face narrowed in frustration, noticing the familiar seductive wallet on the wooly backside.

 

“With ears like those, do you really need to sneak so close?” Duke scoffed, “And what do you mean ‘ah hah’? Ain’t nothing illegal here.”

 

“There’s hardly anything honest too!” Finnick said, his paws popping out and pressing against the wool so he can ease himself out, “You just said you hustled someone at work!”

 

“Hustled someone AT work,” Duke explained with a patronizing tone, “I didn’t hustle someone TO work. Hustling was my job.”

Clawhauser shrugged, “Sounds like standard office politics.”

 

Finnick approached them with his smartphone, “Fine! Well then how about you tell us how you got that fancy new phone with just a little over two weeks making minimum?”

 

“Furizon has a nice trade-in plan.”

 

“Is that the name of your gym?”

 

Finnick then showed video of Duke going in with an empty duffle bag and casually taking someone’s cellphone from under their towel while acting like he was standing around waiting for a turn with some equipment.

 

“Oooh the paperwork…” groaned Clawhauser dreading what was ahead for him, dragging his paws woefully downwards on his chubby cheeks.

 

Duke shot back, “Hey! That was clearly a no-camera zone!” He then sheepishly turned to Benjamin, apologetic, “Listen pal, I’m-,” but then he realized, “Wait, you’re not upset that I relapsed?”

 

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Clawhauser seemed happily jaded with this information, “I’m disappointed for sure, but most people in your situation find themselves, not relapsing, but ‘returning to use’.”

 

“Nah, I feel a relapse coming on.” Duke said in what started with a sigh and nearly trailed off into a grumble.

 

“Anyway!” interrupted Finnick, “No one needs to go to jail or do paperwork. All Officer Spots has to do is make sure you show up to your,” he paused and gave a mischievous chuckle, “’Community service’.”

 

“Why’d he say it like that?” Benjamin asked Duke in a worried hushed tone.

 

Duke didn’t feel like explaining because that would require retelling his story. And at the moment he was having a hard enough time just living it.

 

 

 

That evening, the three crammed themselves in Finnick’s van, which he suddenly didn’t find so spacious on the account of one guest in particular, but he was having too much fun to mind.

 

“Oh no way!” cheered Clawhauser seated on a sofa that was usually big enough for three, giddy with the excitement of things to come, “You have the complete collection!? Are we just watching the best or…”

 

“We’re doing this right,” said Finnick, enjoying the process of getting comfortable on a throne of bootleg DVD boxes, “All of them in order.”

 

“Can we at least skip The Lion King?” begged Duke, pressed between Clawhauser’s gelatinous side and a stack of what used to be his merchandise, “Historical movies are so boring.”

 

The fox and cheetah gave a simultaneous, adamant, “NO!” To which he pinned his ears backed and winced.

 

As the movie started, Finnick laid out one new punishment, “Now pay attention, cuz we’re playing trivia after each movie!”

 

Duke groaned and sank back as his desire to eject his soul from his body increased fourfold while Clawhauser let out a squeal of delight.

 

“I bet I’ll win!” chirped the cheetah.

 

Duke sprang back to life and said to himself, “A bet, huh?” while typing in ‘Disneigh trivia’ into Zoogle on his crummy old phone. He smiled devilishly, suddenly finding himself feeling lucky.