Otters In Space, no. 1 by Mary E. Lowd

Author:Mary E. Lowd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dogs, cats, spaceships, space elevator, otters, talking animals, furry
Publisher: Mary E. Lowd

Chapter 9

Kipper folded her tunic, trousers, and scramball jersey into her little purple duffle and stowed it beside Maury's desk. She wrapped the white sheet around her, under her arms, and pushed the pink curtain out of her way. Maury was arranging the tools of his trade on the work table beside the closest reclining chair. When he noticed her, he patted on the chair's Naugahyde seat, inviting her to take her place there.

The Naugahyde felt static-y under her bare fur as she seated herself. Before she could really get settled, Maury kicked one of the levers, and the chair thudded back into a full recline.

"Get comfortable, Missy Feline, you've got a long ride ahead of you." And Maury got to work.

Like at a doctor's office, the white sheet spread over her was really a formality -- more a mental barrier to make her feel comfortable than a practical physical one. Still, she wasn't at all uncomfortable. The feel of Maury parting her fur and brushing it with the cool dye was relatively pleasant. A light tickle that moved along her ribs, following the pattern of her stripes.

Despite the occasional uprising by the Church of the First Race, nakedness just wasn't that big of a taboo. It would never take much more than an unusually hot summer to get even the most dogmatic, puritanical dog -- who prayed daily for the First Race to return -- to strip down to only the skimpiest pair of shorts.

The furry peoples of the world could never be as deeply attached to clothing as all the history books suggested humans had once been. It's just not practical to get too attached to a coat of cotton when you're already wearing a coat of the finest fur.

"Want a drink?" Maury asked, putting his tools-of-the-trade down and heading to the back. He returned with an unidentifiable bottle and held it out to her after taking a swig himself. "These stripes are going to take awhile," he said, "So, I thought some refreshments were in order."

"What is it?" Kipper asked.

"Symilk."

Kipper looked confused. The other fur-dresser, who seemed to be just about finished with the purple otter, came over to take a swig from the bottle and saw her look of confusion. "Symilk," he said. "Synthetic milk." The skinny fur-dresser handed the bottle back to Maury, and he held it out to Kipper again. She shrugged and took it.

"They probably don't have symilk down below," the purple otter said, rising from his reclined chair. "They've got cow-dogs rasslin' up the real thing."

Kipper was still examining the symilk, swishing it around in the bottle. She figured it couldn't hurt to drink it, so she took a quick sip. The gulp of symilk went down fast. The flavor was right... She had to give it that. But, it was thin. It didn't creamily coat her tongue and sooth it's way down her throat like real milk would. Like milk should. No, this was no replacement for the "real thing."

"Besides," the purple fellow was saying, holding his paw out for Kipper to pass the bottle.

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