I love my fur, I do. But sporting the same style since they molded it that way at the rubber-rat-making factory quite some years ago has gotten kind of old. I’ve wanted something new and exciting, so recently I decided to go and get a new fur-do.
I scuttled my way over to the local fur salon – it wasn’t hard to find because all I had to do was follow the stench of fur-laden perm chemicals (the curly-Q look for whiskers has recently come into fashion) – and plopped my tail into a barber’s chair. My stylist, upon hearing my dilemma, assured me I was in good paws, but my whiskers nonetheless gave a not-so-subtle twitch of apprehension.
She sunk her claws deep into my scalp and started shaking her forepaws, teasing my black locks skyward, and then began to intertwine some thick, curly synthetic fibers all over my head. I could feel it weighing down my ears as strand after frizzy strand was stitched onto my noggin.
Finally she spun me around for the reveal. My thoughts: let me just squeak that I never thought it was possible for a rodent to resemble Tina Turner, and I now crouch corrected!
In the future, I think I’ll stick with the factory model.
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob
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