He stood in front of the machine that made clothes and fretted. He already had a fur suit, a carpet suit, and a brick suit. Everyone had a water suit; it was practically cliche.
Last week he’d had a Pop-Tart suit for a lark. That had been popular, but he couldn’t go back to that well so soon. Anyway, it smacked too much of the bacon suit fad from last year. He’d had to shower for an hour to get un-sticky afterward.
He’d even done a suit suit, which had helped keep his reputation for the sartorial avant-garde.
Harriet, their aging basset hound, shuffled into the bedroom and plopped down beside him. He looked at Harriet and pursed his lips.
The Brindletom woke after Erdi had already finished her eggs and was on her second cup of coffee. He swung down from his nest in the rafters and slid along the ropes to the table. Erdi pushed the plate of bacon toward him.
“I had a dream last night,” he piped, plucking a bacon strip up with his clever forepaws and gnawing on it.
“Do tell,” Erdi said, somewhat blearily. She was considering a third cup of coffee.
“I dreamed that I was a man accursed, trapped in a hideous mannikin body, and bound to a cruel sorceress who had promised to help me, to return me to my place and my true form, but upon whose pleasure I must wait and serve in the interim. I dreamed that my servitude would have no end, for I was sworn to her unto death and she would live forever.”
Rated R. Contains Unethical Clothing Options.