From: Plonq <snowcat@removethis.total.removethistoo.net>
Subject: Days Like This (yet another story)
Date: August 2, 1998 12:55 AM

<sigh> I hadn't planned to release another story this close on the heels of
my last one, but when inspiration strikes...

At the very least, I'd had two other stories that I'd planned to write
before this one, but this one was just crying out to be written.  Thus, for
your reading pleasure, I present:

Days Like This

(another Plonq story)

On days like this, Plonq liked to sit at his desk and daydream while he
stared out the window.  His boss did not appreciate this particular habit,
but the walrus was out of the office, and what he did not know could not
hurt the snow leopard.

The tops of the taller buildings were lost in the low, grey overcast, and a
soft mist of drizzle rendered the whole world myopic, softening the outlines
of the city, and leaving the drab horizon a memory.  The spotted feline
pretended that beyond the veil of haze lay not a flat expanse of urban
sprawl, melting into bland prairie, but verdant hills and vales, rich with
flowers and sweet streams.  In such a place, a fur might run free, liberated
from the invisible chains that held him to his desk.

He shut his eyes and let the sounds of the office run together.  The trill
of the phones became the song of birds, the click of keys was the laughter
of water over stones in a shallow creek, and the buzz of printers melted
into the drone of insects, gorging on the nectar of the flora.  The nagging
voice of the HR weasel that was trying to get his attention became something
else.  He could not decide exactly what, but it was definitely something
unflattering.

"Plonq, I hate to bother you when you're so, er, busy," she said.

"Then don't," thought the snow leopard sourly, but he opened one eye and
turned his head to regard the weasel.  "Hrm?" he said indifferently.

The weasel morph was dressed in the drab uniform of her station, wearing a
frumpy skirt that did not augment her otherwise svelte figure in the least.
She squinted at the cat morph through thick horn-rimmed glasses, and
twitched her long nose in her trademark nervous fashion that everyone in the
office hated.

"I need a small favour of you," she said, having decided to her satisfaction
that she had captured enough of his attention to warrant continuing.  When
the HR director asked a fur for a "small favour", it usually meant something
very nasty and distasteful, so Plonq was understandably sceptical.

"Too busy.  Go away," he said politely, but succinctly.  "I have important
work to do."

"Oh, but I think that it's something you'll enjoy," she persisted.  "And
when I called your boss on the cellular, he assured me that you would be
happy to comply." Ack!  She had obviously come prepared for this.  "I just
need you to entertain some visiting business folk for an hour or two.  Show
them around the office, introduce them to a few of the furs in your work
group, and show them what we do here."

The snow leopard swallowed back the nasty reply he had been contemplating,
and gave the matter some thought.  In the grand scheme of things, this did
not sound like such an awful task.

"That's it?" he asked, half-expecting the other shoe to drop.

"That's it!" she said.  Was that a small quaver of relief in her voice?
Certainly her nose was not twitching with the same ferocity.  "So you'll do
it?"  Plonq nodded, and sighed with resignation.  As much as he disliked the
HR weasel, it never hurt to get a few good-guy brownie points with her.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed, "I'll send them right over.  She turned and
scurried off, calling over her shoulder as she left.  "You only have to keep
them busy until the translator gets here.  He's stuck in traffic."

"Ack!" yelped Plonq.  He leaped from his chair and hooked his fingers on the
top of the cubicle wall, standing on his toes so that his muzzle would fit
over the top.  "Translator?!!" he yowled indignantly, "what do you mean
'translator'?"

The departing HR lady stopped, and winked at the snow leopard with an evil
glint in her eye.

"Didn't I mention that they are Russians?  They don't speak a word of
English," she said, then turned and slunk off, giggling under her breath.

Plonq remained hanging on the edge of his cubicle, heart thumping wildly as
panic set in.  How could she do this to him?  The weasel was evil incarnate!
The cat dropped from the partition wall and began to pace beside his desk,
his tail thrashing frantically as he tried to think of a possible escape.
In the back of his mind, he was dimly aware that the appendage was slamming
against the walls and desk, scattering papers and other sundry items.  Only
when the tail connected with his coffee mug and, by virtue of his lightning
feline reflexes, he prevented a disaster, a thought struck him.

"Coffee..." he mewled softy, his eyes narrowing as a cunning plan began to
form in his little furry brain.  "Giblet!"

Plonq clasped his furry hands behind his back and wound his way toward the
otter's cubicle at the far end of the office, trying to appear as innocent
and nonchalant as he was able.  When he arrived at the other morph's desk,
the cat peered casually around the corner, where he spied Giblet hunched
busily over his desk, jabbing needles into a creditable likeness of his
superior.

"Oh Giblet," sang the snow leopard sweetly.

"No!" barked the otter before he could utter another word.  "I won't
baby-sit your Russians for you."

"Ack!" said the cat, taken aback.  He did not ask the other morph to explain
how he had found out the news so quickly - the office was like that.  "Why
not?  You're way better with strangers than I am," he said, trying
desperately to keep the whine out of his voice.  "Besides, don't you speak
French or something?  That puts you one up on me.  Maybe you can communicate
with them."

The otter morph shook his head, and slammed a book down on the voodoo doll a
few times.

"Ow!" yelped a voice from two desks down.

"Just be your usual, charming self," said Giblet.  "And don't be alarmed
when they try to hug you and stuff - all foreigners are like that."

"Noooo!  Not hugs!" cried Plonq.  "I'm not gregarious enough for this kind
of thing.  I'm a shy cat by nature!"

The otter snorted loudly.

"Now don't start on that," said the snow leopard primly, "I was *very*
drunk."

"I didn't say anything," said Giblet innocently.  The mail skunk had been
walking past during this part of the exchange, and she paused in her rounds.

"Are you saying that Plonqie was a little tight on the weekend?" she asked
teasingly.

"A little," said the otter, "at first..."

"Ack!  Both of you!  I didn't..." growled Plonq, but the otter cut him off
with a hiss.

"Here they come," he rasped in a stage whisper, peering past the feline.

"Oooh, what an ugly-looking group," said the skunkette, "I'm outa here.
Good luck!"

Plonq turned to follow the look of the otter, and spied three large black
bear morphs approaching, led by the little HR weasel.

"Ah, there you are," she said cheerily.  "You weren't at your desk," the
weasel added with a touch of reproach.  She drew up to the snow leopard and
otter, then turned and waved to her three companions.  "I'd like to
introduce you to Dmitri and, well, whoever these other two are with him.
I'll just leave you to get acquainted."  Before Plonq could move to throttle
her, she ducked and darted away.

"She's good," he thought bitterly.  The cat morph waved tentatively at the
three visitors and mewled politely, "Hello. I'm Plonq, and this is Giblet."

"Gzrxlg," said the bear gruffly.  "Drzzt glxnk flkgrt?"

"Uh, ya.. I guess," said the snow leopard tentatively.  Out of the corner of
his mouth he pleaded, "Giblet, buddy, help me out here.  What are they
saying?"

"How should I know?" snapped the otter.

"Well, maybe they speak French or something."

The little morph shook his head, and stepped forward to stand beside his
friend.

"Mon aeroglisseur est plein des anguilles," he said in broken French.

"Ah!" exclaimed the bear that they assumed was Dmitri.  In a move that was
surprisingly quick for a fur of his bulk, he stepped forward and grasped the
snow leopard in a big hug, giving him a sloppy kiss on each furry cheek.
His two companions nodded, and growled to each other in clipped Russian.

"Eep!" yowled Plonq in distress, "I think he's cracking some ribs here!
What did you say to him?"

"I have no idea," admitted Giblet with a shrug, "but I suspect this is a
good sign."

As the snow leopard was beginning to contemplate fainting from lack of
oxygen, the bear released his grip.

"Oh God, she said one or two hours, didn't she?" he lamented.  He rubbed his
feline temple and sighed.  "Well, I suppose we can always start with the fax
room.  Come, gentlefurs, I'm sure you will find it fascinating..."

Just over two hours later, the HR weasel finally tracked down the otter and
snow leopard, who were apparently showing the delighted bears the finer
workings of the colour Xerox machine.

"So you see," Plonq was explaining, "by using this adjustment, you can
ensure that your butt fits the entire sheet."

Various test pages of ursine bottoms were scattered about, and as the weasel
and translator approached, one of the bears proudly showed them his souvenir
photocopy of an otter's backside.

To her credit, the weasel did not scream - but it was debatable if that was
only because she fainted first.

* Plonq