Plonq could not stifle a self-satisfied purr as he wiped the last droplets of water from the final dish and stacked it in the cupboard with the other freshly washed utensils.

"Well that's done for another year," he mewled happily.  He had little doubt that he would find other unwashed dishes piled in amongst the assorted debris in his disaster of a Furrymuck apartment, but clearing the dangerously teetering pile out of the sink had been no small accomplishment.  "Woo hoo!  This calls for a reward."

There are, of course, innumerable ways to revel in the triumph of completing long-overdue chores, but Plonq chose to celebrate with a Twinkie.  The little snow leopard did not allow himself many vices - smoking and drinking notwithstanding - and the little sponge cakes were one of his few real weaknesses.

"Yum!" he said, as his mouth began to water in anticipation.  The cat did not keep Twinkies in his apartment - not since he had purchased a case-lot of them at one of the Furrymuck bulk distribution outlets awhile back.  The memory of waking up in the middle of the night, surrounded by empty wrappers and suffering from a multitude of gastrointestinal disorders was still too fresh for comfort.  The dumpy feline had since adopted an uncharacteristically prudent "purchase only as needed" philosophy toward the spongy confections.

Although he felt that the dishes should count as sufficient chores to let him avoid feeling that he had wasted another day, Plonq decided to also carry out some of the garbage on his way down to the store.  After some deliberation, he grabbed the large bag labelled "February" and toted it with him to the door.

On his way down the hall with the odoriferous satchel of mouldering trash, Plonq took a few moments to appreciate some of the improvements that the new management had made to his apartment building.  The olive-green shag carpeting in the halls had been supplanted by a tasteful mauve weave with a short pile, and some of the burnt-out lights had been replaced.  This had all come at the expense of having his rent doubled, mind you, but the renovations were nice nonetheless.

As an added bonus, two of the three elevators now worked too.

Plonq made his way down to the lobby, and was halfway across the street to the local grocery when he realised he was still carrying the garbage with him.  He made a quick detour to the Dumpster before he resumed his sacred quest for a Twinkie.

The little shop across from his apartment was one of those ubiquitous stores in the muck that seemed to carry at least one of anything one would ever need to purchase - which was fortuitous because it was the only store within walking distance.  Plonq entered the sanctuary of the mart, and beat a hasty beeline to the processed snack counter.  There it was!

The Holy Grail of snack foods lay slightly apart from the other junk cakes as if they felt unworthy to bask in its divine aura; its plastic wrapper glimmered halo-like under the sputtering florescent lights of the convenience store.  Plonq reached out a trembling hand and felt the satisfying crinkle of its polyurethane shell under his finger tips before he snatched up the delectable little sponge cake with a reverent cry of, 

"Yum!"

Plonq toddled up to the counter with his purchase, and presented it to the bored stoat behind the till, who greeted him with a languid drawl of,

"Will that be all?"

The cat nodded eagerly, and counted out a small pile of change to pay for his purchase.  As he was preparing leave, a distraught young sable morph entered the store and brushed past him to the counter.

"Please sir," implored the sable, "I am in dire need, and I wonder if you could help me?"

"What do y'all need?" said the stoat lazily.  Plonq paused to listen as his feline curiosity got the better of him.

"Well," explained the sable, "my grandmother is dying, sir, and I'm not entirely sure how to explain this, but she's a member of a very obscure religion.  We summoned a priest to deliver the ceremony of divine parting on her soul, but he needs a rather unusual ingredient to complete the ritual.  To wit, he requires a Twinkie."

"Sorry kid," said the stoat, "sold the last one I had in stock.  You'll have to try the store across the muck."

"But there's no time," wailed the sable.  "It's only a matter of minutes before she departs this world.  Without a Twinkie to complete the ritual, her soul will be condemned to aimlessly wander the netherworlds of purgatory forever!"

Plonq hefted his bag with the Twinkie and pondered on the exchange.  This was the last Twinkie?  Phew - what timing!  Purring, he stepped out into the bustling street of the muck and toddled home with his snack.  Unable to contain himself, he stopped in the lobby of his apartment and unwrapped the sponge cake to eat it there.  The cat morph resisted the urge to jam the entire Twinkie into his slavering maw, and took a delicate bite instead.

The snow leopard yowled in disbelief; there was no cream filling!

This was utterly inexcusable - somebody would answer for it.  Plonq carried the offending little cake up to his apartment and fired up the word processor to produce a poison-pen letter to the manufacturer.

"Dear Twinkie Company,

Please find enclosed approximately three-quarters of a Twinkie.  Also enclosed is the wrapper with its UPC code, and a receipt indicating the date and time at which this product was purchased.

You will note, upon inspection of the enclosed Twinkie, that conspicuous in its absence is anything resembling the simulated cream-like filling that is normally found within this selfsame product.

I did the dishes today, and I was really looking forward to rewarding myself with a Twinkie, so you can imagine my disappointment when I found your product to be woefully defective.  I have been a regular consumer of your confections, having consumed approximately ten of your Twinkies in the past six months (ten and one quarter, counting the enclosed).

I would like to hear back from you, indicating that my concerns as a concerned consumer have been addressed,

Yours truly,

Plonq"

The little snow leopard had nearly forgotten the incident when he arrived home one day to find a small parcel in his mailbox, accompanied by a polite letter from the Twinkie Company.

"Dear Mister Plonq,

Thank you for choosing the Twinkie as your snack food of choice.

We do our best to maintain standards of quality, but sometimes a rare Twinkie sneaks past our inspection with a minor defect.  Though these defects usually comes in the form of excessive radioactive isotopes, toxic wastes or some other carcinogenic by-product, in your instance it was a Twinkie without any simulated cream filling inside.

Enclosed in the package accompanying this letter is your Twinkie.  Please take due note that we have, a) bored it out, and b) injected a generous quantity of simulated cream filling therein.

We apologise for any inconvenience that this manufacturing defect may have cause you, and sincerely hope that you will continue to see out our product for your snacking needs.

Yours truly,

The Twinkie Company"

It was with renewed warmth at the caring attitude of large corporations that Plonq carried the Twinkie up to his room to enjoy it with a cup of fresh coffee.

Life was good.

* Plonq