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It's a Wonderfully Furry life

(With apologies to Frank Capra, Jimmy Stewart et al.)

In the heavens, something that looked like a large star brightened considerably and spoke: "Lots of folk praying tonight Joseph."

"It's Christmas Eve Sir." A somewhat smaller celestial being replied. "It tends to bring out the best in people."

"Strange. No one seems to praying for Joel Grigori."

"Oh, yes. It's his big day today!"

"Who's on duty Joseph?"

"Clarence, Sir. But this is a difficult case. Maybe we should assign someone more senior? Clarence is a bit ... slow. And he doesn't even have his wings yet."

"He'll do just fine. Call him in and brief him Joseph." The first being departed. A moment later a very small and dim light shot across the heavens and stopped near Joseph.

"You called for me, Joseph?"

"Yes. You have an assignment. But, what is that you're carrying?"

"Oh! It's a copy of 'Tom Sawyer'. It was published just before I died. I've been trying to finish it."

"Clarence, you've been dead for almost one hundred and forty years, and you haven't finished that book yet?"

"I'm, ah, a slow reader."

"Right, well pay attention. You'll have to get to know this Joel character in order to help him. See him there?"

"What? No. Where?"

"Oh, I forgot. You don't have your wings yet. Here, let me help you."

The stars were replaced with the image of a ring-tailed lemur in a lab coat. "This is Joel Grigori. He works as a forger and technician at a Canadian espionage agency."

"He looks a little ... strange. What is that he's doing?"

The lemur was standing on a three-legged stool, leaning forward so that a rope attached to a bar above his head tightening the noose around his neck. The exposed skin around his eyes and on his lips was slightly blue from lack of oxygen. He was not wearing pants, and he was fapping his cock furiously as he swayed on his tip-toes at the end of the rope.

Joseph, who had died several thousand years before autoerotic asphyxia became popular, misinterpreted the small primate's actions.

"Why, he must be committing suicide because he has lost all his faith. We'll have to hurry to review his life quickly and get you down there before it is too late!"

The image faded and was replaced by a winter scene. Several young bears and wolves were tobogganing down a steep slope and onto a frozen river outside of Ottawa. A small lemur was standing at the top of the hill holding a coil of rope. Clarence recognized the younger version of Joel.

"Comm'on guys!" Joel cried. "You said I could have a turn."

"You just hold the rope ready in case the ice breaks." One of the larger cubs told him, punching him on the arm for good measure. A moment later all the rest piled onto one toboggan to see how far they could get with all their weight on it. As they struggled to get the toboggan started, Joel noticed a magazine that one of them had dropped. Picking it up and flipping through it he was amazed to see images of all sorts of creatures that were apparently rubbing their private parts together. For some reason the images made his penis grow and itch. He decided to retreat to a nearby pagoda and investigate this phenomenon further.

Behind him the toboggan began to slide down the hill, gathering momentum with every metre. By the time he was out of sight the toboggan was almost all the way across the river. But just before they reached the safety of the far bank the ice shattered. The cubs tumbled off the toboggan as it disappeared under the ice and screamed for Joel to bring the rope. From inside the pagoda grunts and groans unfamiliar to the two celestial beings drowned out their cries. Less than a minute in the frigid waters was enough to weaken the cubs, and one by one they slipped under the ice and were carried off. The hole froze over quickly as the water settled.

A few minutes later Joel emerged from the pagoda, doing up the button on his pants and adjusting the coil of rope over his shoulder. Looking around at the empty hill and abandoned river he shrugged; it was not the first time the other kids had run off without him. Dropping the rope he turned and headed home.

"Oh my!" Clarence exclaimed.

The sky went dark and when it cleared again they were looking at a slightly older Joel. He was working in a corner drug store, restocking the cigarettes behind their security barrier.

"Joel!" A gruff voice cried. It was the mallard, Mister Gower, the pharmacist that owned the store. "We need to get some medicine to little Timmy Cratchet. I think I may have hit on a combination of drugs that will stop the progression of his cancer, but he needs it right away if there is to any hope of saving him." He placed a box of white pills down on the counter beside the candy display. "I have to run over to the drug company to discuss this formula, so you take this over right away, hear?"

"Yes, sir." Joel said, slipping a couple of packs of cigarettes into his pocket when Mister Gower wasn't looking. He would sell them to some of the private Catholic school kids outside the convent later.

The druggist put on his coat and rushed out the door. Joel reached for the box of pills and then noticed that in his haste Mister Gower had left the rack with the dirty magazines unlocked. Taking the opportunity he grabbed the first one that came to paw - 'Boys in Bondage'. It was filled with pictures of large male mammals whipping and paddling younger males that were tied or trussed in various ways. Near the end of the magazine the little ones were either sucking the big ones' penises or taking it up their tail holes. Joel's penis ached with desire at the sight.

As he fumbled at his fly to relieve that ache he knocked over the candy display. It struck the box of medicine and spilled all the capsules onto the floor, where they rolled down the heat register.

"Shit." Joel said. Stashing the magazine under the counter for later he ripped open a package of mints and filled the box with it. Didn't they say that the placebo effect could be as powerful as real medicine? He hoped that it was true for Timmy's sake as he rushed to deliver the package.

The scene shifted. Police dogs were leading Mister Gower way in chains. The duck was struggling and protesting his innocence. Headlines on the newspapers hung on the street side kiosk screamed "Tiny Tim Dies of Sugar Overdose as Quack Druggist Claims Miracle Cure". As the sky darkened Clarence could see Joel through the window of the drug store, stuffing magazines from the special rack into his backpack.

Oh, dear me!"

When they saw him again Joel was wearing a naval uniform. He was serving on a Canadian Destroyer that was patrolling in the Persian Gulf as part of the interdiction effort following 9/11. At the moment he was working down in the bilges, cleaning them out to be exact, as punishment for hiring himself out as a submissive sex partner to various members of the crew. Only the fact that the Captain was one of his best customers had kept him from being court-martialed for it. But the Bosun was still determined to see the lemur suffer for his malfeasance.

Joel's mop got caught up in something beneath the oil and the muck and the offal that leaked from the ship's septic tanks. When he lifted it up he saw a thick chain tangled in the strands. Cursing and pulling on it he noticed a metal tag attached to the end of the chain. "Danger! Do not pull!" It read. Shrugging his shoulders Joel gave it a hard tug to free it from the head of his mop.

The chain resisted at first, but then it came free. Not from the mop though. The other end, which was attached to a large round rubber plug, came loose from the hull and popped up into the air before Joel's eyes. It was quickly followed by a jet of pressurised sea water.

"Oh shit!" Joel dropped the plug, chain and mop and ran for the upper decks, where the life boats were, as the hull breach alarms went off.

Joel fought his way to the life boats as the rest of the crew rushed below decks to search for the leak. Sadly they were trapped there as the ship sank. The last thing that Joel, the only survivor, saw was the Captain standing at attention on the bow as it slipped beneath the surface.

It's getting late. Joseph said. "Let's just skim the hard copy of his conduct report to save time."

As he read, Clarence, who had originally appeared as a medium sized yellow star turned white and began to tremble. "With a watermelon!" He exclaimed at one point. "That ... that's ... impossible."

"He appears to be a very determined lemur, if a somewhat, ah, perverted one." Joseph commented.

"Joseph, why exactly are we helping this follow?"

"The Sir works in mysterious ways." Joseph said sagely. It was his way of saying "I don't know".

"Ah."

"In any event, it is time for you to go. Call me if you need any assistance."

* * * * * * * *

Down on earth it was an usually warm and sunny Christmas Eve in Ottawa. Temperature records had been breaking all winter and it looked to be a green Christmas. Skiers and snowboarders were heartbroken. Scientists blamed climate change.

Joel Grigori wasn't bothered by it though. His pastimes were all conducted indoors, usually while tied to a rack with leather straps and chrome buckles. But his lover, the Director of the agency, was working late this Christmas Eve so Joel had to amuse himself. He was doing so by carefully cutting off just enough oxygen to his brain to bring on an erotic euphoria as he pawed off to images of muscle-bound canines with whips and exaggerated erections.

There was an unexpected disturbance in the room and a loud "pop" as if a vacuum in space had suddenly been filled. Joel's stool slipped out from under him and he found himself dangling a few centimetres off the ground with the noose tightening around his neck. He reached up for the emergency release but found other paws fumbling with the knot on the noose. The unseen intruder had gotten his digits tangled in the failsafe device Joel had designed to release the noose if ever his full weight was put on it and Joel was rapidly losing consciousness.

Just before blacking out completely the bar the rope was attached to gave way and the two tumbled to the floor.

With the tension released Joel was able to pull the noose off his neck. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" He screamed as he got to his feet.

A shaggy old golden retriever in a white robe that looked like the kind of thing Ebenezer Scrooge almost got buried in got shakily to its feet. "Who in heaven you mean." The dog said, extending a paw that Joel ignored. "Clarence Oddbody, Angel second class. I just saved your life."

Joel examined the strands of gold and grey fur that had tangled up his failsafe device. "Saved my life? You almost killed me, you idiot."

"Now, now." Clarence said. "I know that you are distraught but that is no reason to kill yourself. In fact, I'm here to restore your faith and when I do that, I'll get my wings."

Joel was beginning to believe that the asphyxia had given him brain damage. "Wings?"

"Oh, yes. When you die, if you were good and go to heaven you can become an Angel first class and get your wings by helping others down here on the earth. All that it takes is one good act of assistance that turns their life around."

Joel looked at the dog's archaic clothing. "And how long have you been doing this?"

"Almost a hundred and forty years."

"Great. Not only do I get haunted but by an incompetent ghost at that."

"I'm not a ghost, I'm an Angel, second class. Your guardian Angel."

Joel heaved a deep sigh. "I wish ..."

Clarence jumped to his feet. "... that you had never been born? Oh, that's a popular one. I can work with that!"

"I was going to say that I wish that you would go away and leave me alone."

Clarence did not hear him. He was too excited at the prospect of helping the hapless lemur. "Okay. Poof! You have never been born."

The quality of light in the room suddenly changed. Outside the sky clouded over and a thick blanket of snow appeared on the dull grey buildings. Large, fat, lazy snowflakes began to fall, adding to the pristine layer of fresh snow. Joel looked at the thermostat mounted outside the window and was shocked to see that the temperature was now several degrees below freezing.

"What just happened?"

"You've never been born. Everything is different now. "

"How did my not being born change the weather?"

Clarence frowned in concentration. "It's difficult to explain, but when your friends were washed out into the river they were eaten by predator fish that would otherwise have died of starvation, but didn't, and they went on to decimate several species of whale, which along with the ship that you sank, contributed to the change in the ocean currents just enough to ..."

"Are you telling me that I caused climate change? All by myself?"

"Well .... yes."

"I need a drink."

"Oh, goody. I could use a mulled wine myself. Then we can go and see how miserable everyone's lives are without you in them."

Joel took Clarence to the roughest bar he knew, hoping that the simple retriever would be mugged so he could dump him at the emergency room and get back to what he had been doing. But Nick's looked different tonight. Instead of the drab, derelict exterior the windows were whole, decorated for the season and filled with light and laughter. Inside the usual gang of alcoholics, hookers and under aged drinkers was nowhere to be seen. Instead a number of trendy couples and a smattering of single creatures sipped wine and cocktails while carols played in the background.

The one-eyed bull that tended bar had been replaced by an elderly red fox named Gray Muzzle that Joel recognized from the Academy. "Gray! It's me, Joel! Look, I hurt myself trying .... well, never mind what I was trying. Can you call Gold and have him come pick me up?" He begged, referring to the Director by his codename.

"Gold? I don't know anyone named Mister Gold, son." The kindly old fox said. "But you do look a fright. Let me stand you and your friend a drink." He took their orders, not batting an eye at Clarence's request for mulled wine, and turned to enter the null sale in the register. The antique register opened with a loud "ding".

"Oh, there goes another one." Clarence said.

"Another what?" Joel asked, looking around.

"Angel. Every time you hear a bell ring it means that another Angel has gotten his wings."

Joel frowned as he considered that information. “Kind of a dumb system isn't it? I mean, think of all the bells you hear in a single day. 'Dinner is served' – pop, an Angel is created. 'School's out' - pop, another Angel. Fire alarm tests – Angels, Avon calling – Angels, crank calls - more Angels. There must be billions of you guys by now. I'm surprised that anyone has to wait for their wings at all. Speaking of which," he said turning to face Clarence, "how come it's taking you so long to get your wings?"

He was answered with sullen silence. Taking his drink, Joel swiveled around to see what was on the TV behind the bar. He spat out a mouthful of vodka and pointed at the screen. "Hey! It's Mister Gower." The duck seemed to be getting some sort of award, but as far as Joel knew he should only be half-through his sentence for killing Timmy Cratchet. He wondered if someone had come up with evidence as to who was really responsible.

The bartended turned to him as he polished glasses. "You know that guy?"

Joel pulled his head down between his shoulders. "Uh, no, not really. Just read about him in the news ... when he went to jail."

"Jail?" The fox laughed. "He came up with a miracle cure for cancer fifteen years ago. You see that feline sitting behind him clapping?"

The cat looked vaguely familiar. "Uh, yeah."

"That's Timothy Cratchet, the first patient to be cured by Gower's drug cocktail. Gower has been perfecting it and adapting it ever since and now he can cure ninety percent of all cancers with just a few inexpensive treatments. He's receiving the Nobel Prize for Medicine tonight in Sweden. In fact, Cratchet is there to receive one too, the Peace Prize. After his cancer was cured he went on to be one of the world's leading activists for peace. With his diplomacy and the interception of Bin Laden and his key leadership in the Gulf by that Canadian Destroyer they were able to bring peace to the Middle East without the need for armed intervention."

With a little prompting Joel elicited the fact that the Destroyer in question was the same one he would have been on, had he been born, and that the date of the intercept was one day after the ship would have otherwise sank because of him. Turning to Clarence he said "Everyone is miserable without me, eh? It's amazing how well they hide it."

"Well, you can't expect everyone to be worse off."

"What about my tobogganing friends. What happened to them?"

Clarence sighed and looked away. "They all lived because the one with the rope didn't wander off like you did. He was a hero and went on to Captain the Destroyer that captured Bin laden alive. The others all grew up happy and prosperous and married and raised families. One became a cosmetic surgeon doing charity work for slum kids. Another is a public defender who runs a street clinic. The one who used to punch you started a Savings and Loan service so that poor families could afford houses. The one that won the Pulitzer ..."

"Okay, okay! I get it. Everyone is better off without me."

"Well, we haven't visited your colleagues at the spy agency yet."

Joel got up from his bar stool with a hopeful heart. "Sure. I know I helped some of them with my fake IDs and passports. That must count for something. If we hurry we should be able to catch them before they leave work."

"I can get us there fast." Clarence said, snapping his digits. A split second later they were sitting in the bar of the agent's lounge. "No-one can see us." He told Joel. "A trick I learned from a Trio of ghosts that specialize in rehabilitating cold hearted misers. This way we can observe how they have changed without influencing events."

A group of foxes entered. Joel recognized Silver, the Chief of Staff who, as a junior agent, had brought the baby lemur out of the Soviet Union in exchange for missile secrets his parents held. He looked fit and healthy. He still had the vertical scar through his left eyebrow from his Army days, but the wrinkled flesh on the back of his paw from the burn he had suffered during that mission was gone. He was wearing a thin shirt that showed an absence of the horrible scars that used to criss-cross his chest and back.

Silver was laughing at something that his mate Vikki Beausoleil had said. The tall elegant vixen was dressed in a sleeveless dress and her left arm was real, not artificial, as it should have been. Behind her, the black fox named Marcel laughed too, and squeezed his girlfriend, the blond feline Geno, close to him. To Joel's surprise Marcel was dressed as a preppie and Geno was wearing a dress that hid her legs and bosom and downplayed the luscious curves of her body. In fact she looked downright frumpy.

The group sat at the bar and ordered drinks. A martini for Vickie, a scotch for Marcel. Silver and Geno both took diet soft drinks. Joel asked Clarence what was going on.

"Well," the golden retriever said, pointing at the muscular silver fox, "since you were not born agent Silver did not have to bring you out of Murmansk. He brought the lemurs that would have been your parents out instead. He didn't get tortured and traumatized on that mission. When he got back and was promoted he realized that he had been drinking too much and went to AAA. He didn't get tangled up in Senior Agent Scarlet's triple agent scheme and was never brutalized by the Colonel Sun, so no scars on his body or his mind. He hit it off with Vickie and instead of sending her into Russia alone on her first mission he went with her. He spotted the bear trap that would have taken her arm off and they made it out with enough intelligence to shut down the anti-missile plan for good. They have five kits now."

"What about Marcel? He's a street kid. And Geno, she's almost as perverted as I am. What gives there?"

"Marcel's real father was on that Destroyer. He returned home and moved his wife and son to Ottawa where he worked for the Ministry of Defence until retirement. Marcel went to the best private schools and was recruited by your spy agency out of university. He doesn't kill people for a living, he just runs foreign agents. As for Geno, do you remember when you used to sell the cigarettes you stole from Mister Gower to the kits at the convent school?"

"Yes."

"That would have been Geno's first exposure to the wild side of life. But because you weren't there on that street corner that day she was never tempted. She never snuck out of class after that and would have become a nun if her powers of analysis were not so strong that she was recommended to the Academy by a former agent."

"And the bartender? I didn't recognise him. Why was Gray working at Nick's instead of the Academy lounge?"

"The Soviet sleeper agents were exposed by Silver on his first mission after taking the pledge. Gray Muzzle was removed from his KGB parents and converted to democracy by the same techniques they use to de-indoctrinate those who have been seduced by cults. He came to Canada to thank the agent that saved him and fell in love with a certain poodle. So he got a job at Nicks to be close to her."

"Miss CC? Please don't tell me that she is a nice, decent, normal poodle too now."

"Oh no. She is still into BDSM. But she treats Gray much better since you are not around to challenge her supremacy in kinkiness."

Joel slumped to the bar. "I give up. The world really is better off without me. Take me wherever it is you take lost souls like me."

"That would be limbo, but you're not giving up are you? I'll never get my wings with that attitude."

"Yes, I'm giving up, but if it helps I'll come back as a ghost and do door-to-door surveys. If I ring enough bells you're sure to get your wings."

"Now, you know it doesn't work that way."

"Well, unless you can think of something else ...?"

"We could drop in on your partner, Tancred Williams."

Joel thought about the very tall, extremely muscular golden fox who he had shared a life with for the last few years. Tancred, or Tanner to his few friends, was Gold, the Director of the Academy. He was the dominant participant in Joel's BDSM fantasies but a tender lover otherwise. Joel had never found a mate like him, and he shuddered to think how much better Tanner would be doing without him.

"Why should I be spared that final humiliation?" He conceded. "Show me how happy he is now Clarence."

Clarence snapped his digits and Joel found himself in a place familiar to him, the Directors 'Play Room' in the basement of the tech building. It was an old store room equipped with the latest in BDSM devices, whips, riding crops, butt plugs and lubes. Joel had spent many an intense hour here with Tancred Williams, both before and after they became an official couple.

As expected, Williams was there with someone else - a loris with long thin limbs and big brown eyes was strapped to the frame of the rack. Williams was tickling its feet with a feather prior to bringing out the heavy artillery, the nipple clamps and testicle cuffs, but Joel noticed that the great golden fox had a slight frown on his face. He was not enjoying this as much as he should. Then Joel noted a few other discrepancies.

Williams was not wearing the new leather briefs and chest straps that Joel had bought him last Christmas. He was wearing an older outfit that was scuffed and frayed at the seams. The room itself was messy, with previously used dildos and paw cuffs lying around unwashed. Even the normally fastidious Williams looked unkempt. Joel suspected that there was something wrong.

"How long has he been with the loris?" He asked Clarence.

Clarence glanced at an antique pocket watch he pulled from his nightgown. "About twenty minutes."

"No, I mean as a couple."

"Oh, they're not a couple. The loris is just some guy he picked up a gay bar downtown. He is quite the Lothario, your fox. Why, he has had a dozen different lovers since last Christmas! I'm sure Saint Peter will have words to say about that when he shows up at the Pearly gates."

"Being gay doesn't help either, does it?" Joel mumbled. "Not according to Dante."

"Oh, we've made concessions since those days." Clarence said. "We don't automatically condemn what they used to call 'sexual deviants' to an eternity in hell anymore. I mean, could you imagine Elton John down there? The masses would not stand for it, and if they stop believing ... let's just say it's better to make a few concessions than to lose everyone. You two would have spent a few millennia in purgatory for ..." Clarence shuddered at the memory of what he had read in Joel's file. "...for past sins. But with hard work you could still have a chance at heaven. Now his sleeping around will get him 500,000 to eternity in the second circle of hell."

Joel frowned. Before his time Williams never sleep around so much. He had taken the occasional lover but it had never worked out. Not until I came along, he thought. He turned back to Clarence. "What kind of lovers did you say he had?"

"I didn't, but ..." Clarence put his copy of tom Sawyer away and pulled a file out from under his nightie. "Let's see ... this is his second loris ... and there were three galagos, one sifaka, two indris, an aye-aye and three different types of lemurs." Clarence stowed the file away and retrieved his book. "Likes the smaller primates I guess. Well," he sighed, "it looks like I've failed again. Let's get you off to limbo so I can get back to Tom Sawyer."

"No, Clarence. I want to go back."

Clarence was surprised. "Back? Really? But why? You don't have anything to live for."

Joel was staring at the big fox. "Not for me, Clarence, for Tancred. Every lover he's had has been a lemur or lemur subspecies. He's desperately searching for his soul mate but he won't find him because I've never been born. That's why I was born, to complete him. Somewhere deep inside he's longing for me, and he'll go to hell on a lust rap if I don't go back. Send me back Clarence."

Joel turned around to plead with the second-rate Angel, but Clarence was nowhere to be seen. Joel ran out the open door of the play room and through the halls of the tech building screaming "Send me back, Clarence, for God's sake send me back!"

He hit the exit door hard, half expecting to be able to pass through it in his ghostly state. When he couldn't he hit the panic bar and tumbled out onto the grass of the lawn, blinking in the bright sunlight. As his vision cleared he saw Marcel and Geno walking towards him.

"Stay away from me you preppy freaks!" He shouted. I just want to go home to Tancred!"

"Then go home." Marcel said from under the backwards red ball cap he habitually wore. He was picking his claws with one of his knives.

Beside him Geno was adjusting the torn tee-shirt she had worn on this record-breaking warm day so that just a hint of her nipples showed. "Yeah," she said around the wad of gum she was chewing. "What's stoppin' ya?"

"Oh, my God! Quick, Geno, say something slutty."

The voluptuous feline frowned. "What's gotten into you? Someone should wrap a cunt around your head and fuck some sense into you."

Joel began dancing on the lawn, his lab coat flapping about him. "He did it! He sent me back! Everything is the way it was!" He stopped and shook both his friends by the paws. "Forgive me, I have to go. There is someone who needs me ... more than he knows." Then he turned and ran off in the direction of the Headquarters, where Tancred William's office was.

Stunned, Marcel just stood there shaking his head. "What was that all about?" He asked Geno.

"I dunno. Sort of par for the course for Joel though."

"Yeah, but even so, it's a little late in the year to be running around outside with no pants on under your lab coat."

* * * * * * * *

Christmas morning found Joel and Tancred at his cottage in the Gatineau Hills, trying out the gifts they had bought for each other. Tancred spanked Joel with the leather-covered paddle the lemur had given him until Joel's butt cheeks glowed a cheery red through the short fur. Joel was wearing the leash and collar Tancred had picked out for him. They were done in red leather with bright green stitching, suitably festive for the season, and Joel had hung a big brass sleigh bell from the collar's buckle. Then he donned a set of felt antlers from the dollar store, stuck a red foam ball on his nose and asked Tancred to "ride me like Santa".

Tancred was only too willing to accommodate. Slathering eight inches of erection with industrial strength lube he positioned himself behind the kneeling lemur. He pressed the massive head of his cock against Joel's tail hole and eased it in, allowing the tight little orifice to squeeze the excess lab down his shaft to the base. Joel moaned in appreciation as each bump and bulge in Tancred's throbbing member passed slowly inside. Once he was comfortably positioned, Tancred reared back until just the head was left in Joe's ass. He took the leash in one paw and grabbed Joel's leg at the top of the thigh with the other. Then pulling on lemur and leash while rocking his hips forward he drove his cock all the way home at full steam.

Cries of pain and pleasure escaped from Joel's mouth as his tailhole was stretched to the limit with each thrust. With each slam of rock-hard abs against bruised buttocks and slap of testicles the bell on his collar tingled merrily. When he could catch his breath he panted "Oh, yeah, do those Angels, baby."

"What's that, sweet checks?" Tancred asked from behind.

"Every time <pant> a bell rings <groan> an Angel gets its wings."

Without slowing the rhythm of his hips Tancred replied "That's kind of a dumb system, don't you think? I mean, every time they play 'Carol of the Bells' they must be creating hundreds of them."

"I didn't <oh yeah> design the system <moan> I'm just repeating what I've been told."

They were interrupted by the sound of a door bell. Tancred swore and pulled out of Joel. "I better go see who that is." He said as he grabbed a robe that was hanging behind the bedroom door. "Only the Chief of Staff and the Minister know about this place, and both know better than to disturb me when my Blackberry is turned off unless it's a national emergency."

The muscular fox was only gone for a minute and when he returned he had a puzzled expression on his face and a parcel in his paw. "It's a package for you." He explained, holding it out to Joel. "Strange to be delivering on Christmas morning."

Joel took the package and examined it carefully; it would not be the first time someone had sent him an exploding parcel. It looked okay, but t had had no return address. Tentatively, he slit the wrapping with one claw and slid the contents out.

It was a book, a familiar book, a first edition copy of 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer', by Mark Twain. He opened the cover and saw a freshly written note addressed to him scrawled on the title page.

"Dear Joel," it read. "Remember, no one is a failure who has friends ... even if they are big, muscular, dominant friends that like to .... never mind. Thanks for the wings! Love, Clarence."

Joel smiled at the memory of the prudish golden retriever and all the exotic and erotic things he had been suddenly exposed to in order to deal with Joel's case. Then he spotted a postscript to the note.

"P.S." It said. "Joseph says stop ringing that G--damned bell!"