The Tales of Larry the Skunk

(pre-titled by Terry)

It was New Year’s Eve and Larry the Skunk was in someone’s wardrobe again. He had picked the house at random from the rows of swanky mansions in Beverly Hills. He held up a lave babydoll and regarded himself in the mirror. It was a good fit, though the matching rhinestone thong on the hanger confused him. But it was nice and shiny so he slipped it on. Abruptly noises and chatter came from beyond the door. A painted face society swell opened it, spotted him, and screeched, “Skunk!”

Larry hated that. His name was Larry. He didn’t yell “human!” every time he saw one of them, and he wanted the same respect. He wanted nothing more than to let loose and punish that popinjay as only a mustelid like him could, but that was the one thing he couldn’t allow himself to do if he hoped to ever be treated as something more than a skunk.

So he politely skittered up her leg and the front of her dress in order to converse with her properly.

Before he knew it, Larry hit the floor, then to be covered in something like silk but probably more likely some kind of cheap rayon blend. Thudding footsteps told him of her flight down the hall and he worried about her catching cold without her ersatz pelt. He wanted her to have the real thing, so he chased her and caught her skirt just as she reached and exited the door. He scuttled up her back and curled his tail around her neck and squirted just a little – accidentally.

Noooo, he moaned to himself, maybe I need one of those adult diapers; this is ridiculous. But the compliments that his host started to get at her party turned that pesky shame around – until they got close.

“What is that darling – arghhh! Ach!”

“Oh, you clever little – what in the–!”

The partigoers crowded around Larry and his host, wanting to touch him, but unable to get close. It was like a strange Broadway dance number.

Larry started to get excited. He was the center of attention, and no one had yet yelled, “Skunk!” He peered out at the crowd and began to preen his fur. This was a Hollywood party, after all, one must look one’s best to impress.

“It’s animatronic!” a sequined matron called out from ten feet away.

“I saw one at a fashion snow last week,” an orange-faced aging actor added to his entourage, “They are so… cute.”

Larry stopped at once, outraged. I’m alive, you fools. And I’ll show you … He raised his tail, cocked it, and released a mighty blast. Several people fainted, one blistered, but none fled. “It’s so lovely, yet… so unattainable. So unreachable.” Larry cringed. He had become a metaphor for lasting fame… and he was still in a rhinestone thong!