Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Dina Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Richard Terry, Hantaywee Twofeathers, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Werner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Signe Enoksen, Gertrud Katze, Rita Sanchez, Agent Grochy, Mr. Canis, Captain Gregory Cervus, First Sergeant Cat Santos, Agent Manchilla, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005.

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.

Remember...

Emma was getting to the point of exasperation. First she had to endure what she felt was an inept prosecutor trying to bully her with threats of capital punishment. Then she had to deal with her own lawyer berating her for not waiting for her own defense counsel to be present at such a meeting. Lastly, she had to endure yet another questioning by Lieutenant Miranda. At least the squirrel was nice about it all. Nice but...necessarily professional.

Now she was back in her cell. Miriam had come by, bringing Jean along. They had said the wedding would be postponed again, if she hadn't been released. She'd protested quite strongly about that. That wedding had been postponed once already. Enough was enough, she had argued. She had forced Miriam to promise that it wouldn't be postponed again, no matter what...but she knew that promise was empty. Miriam wouldn't go through with it until she had all her maids of honor present.

At least they had brought her some reading material. Something to help take her mind off what was going on. She'd actually managed to read a bit of it, too. It did help. She hadn't heard from that private investigator since he had been by that evening. Hopefully, the orangutan would be able to dig up some useful information.

What she wanted more than anything else was to get out. Walk under open skies. She'd been in the cell for less than a week and she already missed freedom. Quite badly.

No, she reminded herself...

What she really wanted more than anything else...was to pick up the pieces of her life, glue them back together...and get on with it all.

But she had shot someone. Killed someone. The knowledge was there. It'd always be there. She put her face in her paws and tried to push it away. Tried to push away the image of rage on Jeremy's face...then the twisted look of pain as the first two bullets dug into his body. She could hear his roar of pain and anger. See how he advanced on her...wounded as he was. She shot again...emptied the revolver into Jeremy, in blind panic.

She remembered the look of stunned shock on his face as he looked down himself. Blood trickled over his lips as he fell to his knees...and then flat on his face.

Those images, Emma knew...would always remain with her.

###

Hantaywee picked up the stack of papers on the low table in front of her and smiled at the rest of the group. They had taken a lot of notes...done a lot of reading as well. The good thing about working in a group was that everyone felt they could contribute, everyone got to do what they preferred, and of course, the social interaction meant that friendships were in fact building fast.

"We're ready then?" she asked and stretched. "Or is there anything else we need to go over before the meeting?"

Richard shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done so much work...and it hadn't felt like he'd done anything at all. It was a good feeling.

"I think we've got everything ready," he said and got up.

They all left the room and walked across campus at a leisurely pace. There was no need to hurry, as they were in good time for the meeting. It had rained some, that morning, but the air was fresh and crisp now.

"We're going to have a real storm soon. Thunder and lightning. Can't you smell it?" Hantaywee asked, looking skywards as she walked.

"Yeah...let's just hope it'll stay dry until we're out of the meeting and back home," Hannah responded. She hadn't said much the whole morning.

"Is something wrong, Hannah?" Richard asked, looking at the wolf again with concern. "You've been really quiet today."

Hannah shook her head. "I'm fine."

The terrier knew better than to ask. Hannah's tone of voice had been quite sharp. He looked at William, walking next to him and shrugged. The other male didn't look like he understood either.

After crossing the great lawn, they reached the right building, and entered. Everyone walked in silence by now. Today's meeting was important.

"What the hell am I going to say?" Hannah finally asked, looking at the other three.

Hantaywee stopped and looked at the wolf in confusion. "Erhh...what do you mean? We've done a lot of work so far. In fact, I think we can start doing some of the actual writing after today."

"That's not what I'm talking about," the wolf muttered. "I don't know how to deal with..."

She stopped and shook her head.

Richard groaned. "Good God, tell me this isn't happening," he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Is this STILL the issue of Miss LeBrun's past?"

Hannah nodded. "I don't know how to deal with it, that's all. He...she..." she tried and shook her head. "Look, Miss LeBrun is a nice enough fur, I agree there, but I can't deal with this. And I know that a lot of the other students feel the same way. There are those who deliberately stay away from Critical Thinking classes for that reason..."

William put his face in his paws and took a deep breath. "First of all, Hannah...I recommended to these two that we include you in the group...and I really, honestly hope this doesn't mean I've made a mistake. Secondly, it's not 'he'. Miss LeBrun has bloody well earned the right to call herself 'her'. What the Hell is your problem, Hannah? Is she offending your sensibilities in some way?"

Hannah looked slightly taken aback. She even took a step backwards, looking almost like someone had slapped her. It dawned on William that she hadn't expected that kind of harsh retort.

Hantaywee looked at the rest of the group. "I think...that Hannah has suddenly fallen ill, making her unable to attend this meeting..." she said, evenly and calmly.

"What do you mean? I'm not..."

"In fact, Hannah...I think I see your face flushing and I'm fairly sure you're running a fever. Now go home and pack yourself away under your quilts until tomorrow so it won't get any worse!" the puma said, curtly.

Hannah nodded, sighing. "I'm sorry guys. I just think I have to drop out of this group..."

Richard looked like he was about to scream. "Bullshit! This is about prejudice. To think we'd run into this kind of nonsense at a university. Furs here are supposed to be intelligent, dammit!!"

"I'm not the only one!" Hannah protested, angrily.

Hantaywee looked at the wolf for a long moment. "I don't care if I was the only student here backing up Miss LeBrun, Hannah. I don't care if every other student here still referred to her as 'the French freak'. That's what they called her when she was a student, if you didn't know. I'd still think she had done the right thing, and I'd still enjoy her teaching. We'll talk about this later, Hannah."

For a long moment, Hannah looked like she was about to retort. Finally, she held out the papers she carried towards Hantaywee in a defiant kind of way. "Most of the students here think she shouldn't be allowed to teach," she growled. "Most of them just won't say it aloud. Some are scared of her, others say she's a pervert. And then some say she's insane, and should be locked away."

"If it was up to furs like you, Hannah...we'd still be shouting 'throw another fagot on the fire' as we burnt homosexuals in the squares," William sneered and turned away. "I've got a meeting to attend. With someone teaching us 'Critical Thinking'. Sounds like you forgot how to apply that to rumor and hearsay."

He walked up the stairs. Richard shot an angry glance at Hannah and turned to follow.

"If it wasn't for Miss LeBrun I'd have flunked out. Suddenly, method and critical thinking makes sense to me. Pervert you say? I haven't seen her do anything perverted in class. She teaches. Period. I don't think there's really much to talk about. I hope you'll be able to finish YOUR term paper, Hannah. You'll have to work fast, with all the time you wasted with us..." he hissed and started up the stairs as well.

Hantaywee stayed while the two males walked upstairs. Then she looked at Hannah for a while, as if expecting the wolf to say something. Finally, she sighed. "I'll let her know you've left the group, Hannah...and I'll let her know why. She deserves the truth. If 'most of the students' really feel like you do...then you should get together and arrange a meeting with Mrs. Belge about this. Whispering behind someone's back won't get you anywhere. However, unless you can come up with some concrete evidence of insanity, I don't think you really have much of a case. What you call 'perversion', I call 'survival'. Dammit, I'm ashamed to have worked with you. I hope you'll have the decency to apologize to Miss LeBrun eventually. When you realize just how stupid you are."

Then she too, turned around and walked up the stairs.

Hannah stared after her for a while. She kept swallowing. She was angry...and tears were fighting their way to the fore.

Then she turned around and left the building.

###

Leo stopped. The sign on the door before him said 'Cpt. Gregory Cervus'. He had been installed in his quarters already. They were small but not uncomfortable. A uniform had been laying on the bed, already. His size, too, although he'd have to see the quartermaster about new shoes. The ones he had received were a little too big. It amused him slightly. If anyone asked a soldier what size shoes he wore, he'd probably answer 'nine'. He, however, was an eight and a half, and he felt like his feet were skidding around inside the shoes with every step. He'd get it taken care of as soon as he was done with the meeting he had coming up.

He removed his cover and straightened up, before knocking on the door in front of him.

"Enter!" a brusque voice called out from the other side.

The lion opened the door and entered, closing it behind him again. Then he turned around and clicked his heels together, saluting the fur in the room. It was the first look he had at his CO, although he'd been told what he should expect, by the company First Sergeant already.

"Second Lieutenant Leon reporting for duty, Sir!" he said.

"At ease," the elk in front of him grumbled.

He was a large fur. Leo couldn't remember seeing anyone short of a bear that large, in fact. Muscular and fit, looking to be in his mid forties, the Captain had a penetrating kind of gaze that made Leo feel like his soul was being scrutinized.

It made it damned hard to stand at ease, even when instructed.

"First Sergeant Santos said to report to you immediately once I had settled in, Sir," the lion tried.

Captain Cervus scratched his chin, looking at the lion in front of him. He'd heard a thing or two about this Second Lieutenant. He'd half expected an ill disciplined rich kid, who thought that because Daddy had money, he could do as he pleased. So far, that expectation had been off, though.

"That's right. Get acquainted with the NCO's, Lieutenant. They're good furs," he said.

Leo nodded. "I will, Sir. First Sergeant Santos also informed me that I'll be taking over from a...Second Lieutenant Rojo, I think it was?"

"That is true. Lieutenant Rojo was one of my better officers, but he was transferred to a unit that won't be seeing action. I can't say I wasn't disappointed but he's a family fur, so I suppose I will have to deal with it," the Captain said, slightly irritably.

"Is a large percentage of the furs here Hispanic, Sir?" Leo asked, purely out of curiosity. He realized immediately it was the wrong thing to ask.

Captain Cervus' face went dark, and he leaned over the table, supporting his weight on his knuckles. "I'm old school, Lieutenant. In this furs army, we are all American, and we are all green! I don't care who your parents are, what your upbringing was like, what country you were born in or what your ego is. We all fight for the same cause here, is that understood?!"

"Perfectly, Sir. I meant no offense," Leo said, looking straight ahead and finding himself standing to attention again.

Captain Cervus nodded, slowly. "Very well, Lieutenant. As you know, this company is equipped with a variety of heavy artillery. You'll be taking over command of Lieutenant Rojo's battery of M198's. As I said, I'm old school. I expect my Second Lieutenants to be combat leaders. I expect them, as well as my noncoms, to shape each soldier into an effective fighting unit. If they fail, I'll look to their commanders for a reason first of all. Clear?"

"Crystal"

"Very well, Lieutenant. We have less than three weeks before we're shipping out. I expect everyone here to be fit and ready by that time. I expect them to be able to lay a barrage that'll blow a mountain off the map, and I expect them to pinpoint a target with such accuracy that they can hit within five yards of it, at a distance of fifteen miles. Dismissed!"

Leo saluted again and turned on his heel, leaving the room. Once outside, having closed the door...he realized he'd barely breathed the last minute or so and he gasped. For all his gruffness, Captain Cervus seemed to be a good leader. He obviously cared about training, and Leo knew well enough that this might make all the difference between life and death in battle. A Captain wasn't put in command to be everyone's best friend.

A gray and white feline pushed off a windowsill and nodded to Leo. "How did it go, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Quite well I think, First Sergeant. I'm not bleeding," Leo chuckled. "Now, I'd like to inspect the material. Please contact the Sergeant in my unit and have him drum up the furs for inspection."

"As you wish, Sir," the feline said and saluted, before heading off.

Leo smiled. In a strange way...he felt good.

###

Rome was everything Gabrielle had expected. Complete chaos...and lots of life. The trip from the airport to the hotel the night before had been a harrowing experience. She had thought taxi-drivers in Paris had an alternative take on 'safety', but it was nothing compared to how things were done in Italy.

It had, at least, been worth a giggle...once she and Yohni actually made it to the safety of their hotel.

At one time, the taxi-driver had stopped at an intersection, rolled down the window, leaned out and proceeded to roar a string of extremely loud Italian at a pedestrian. While neither femme spoke a word of the language, both had understood the driver's meaning perfectly. This was their first day in Rome, however, and it was already coming to an end. They had gone on a sightseeing trip, but seeing the Rome from within a bus with some over-energized fur explaining what every building was in broken English hadn't exactly been good.

Again, though, it had qualified as a good laugh once they were done. The main benefit of the trip had clearly been that they had figured out where everything was placed, and what to see in what order.

"I can't really make out the hills, you know..." Yohni said, folding her arms across her chest and frowning slightly. "Rome was built on seven hills, I thought..."

For a moment, Gabrielle didn't really know how to respond without laughing.

"Yohni, the hills are at the absolute center of modern day Rome. It wasn't this big when they built it, you know."

The mongoose blinked, then giggled.

"You're right of course. How silly of me. Well, what are we going to do today?"

"I think I'll leave that for you to decide. What would you like to do?"

Yohni pondered a moment, looking around. There was such a lot to see in Rome. Much to her own surprise, getting better looks at the various sights was more important to her than making the shops of the city unsafe.

"Let's go to the Forum Romanum...then afterwards, we'll find a place to get a real Italian dinner..."

Gabrielle nodded. "Time to go on a diet when we get home, I think," she said and smiled.

Yohni grinned. "If I remember right, we should be able to walk to Forum Romanum in half an hour from here. We'd get some exercise on the way."

Reaching out for Yohni's paw, Gabrielle nodded again and started walking. "Sounds like a good idea then. Maybe we'll even make room for dessert."

###

The part of Cincinnati that William Pongo found himself in wasn't where he normally went as part of his job. He'd normally hang out in rundown areas where the slime of the city would think themselves safe. Suburbia wasn't exactly his usual turf.

Long lines of nice little picket fences and perfect lawns met his gaze. He stuck his paw into the glove compartment and took out a cigar. He leaned back in his seat. He was about to bite the end off when he remembered something. He smiled to himself and shook his head.

His wife thought only barbarians bit off their cigars like that. She'd given him a little tool for clipping it instead, realizing she'd never make him stop smoking them.

William reached into his jacket and took out the cigar-clipper. A moment later, he was lighting the cigar with a content look on his face.

This was where Jeremy Mustela came from.

It didn't surprise him. In his experience, assholes came from all walks of life. It just wasn't his usual beat. It didn't really concern him. He'd spent several days here. It was time to stop watching and start doing some talking instead.

Getting out of his car, he stuck his paws in his pockets and crossed the street. He grinned to himself. The best place to look for information about Jeremy Mustela wasn't with his parents. Nor with his so-called friends.

It wasn't even a matter of looking for old girlfriends.

No...the right place to start was in the small house in front of him. An old, bent over canid was tending the garden. William put on a big smile. Small smiles were impossible for him anyway. Then he approached the old fur.

"Good afternoon, sir..." he said.

The canid looked up and pushed his sixpence up to take a look at the orangutan. There was a look of immediate disapproval on his features.

"I'm not buyin'..." he grumbled.

William nodded. "That's fine...I'm not here to sell anything."

"And I'm not convertin' neither! Been a faithful atheist, me...for close to seventy years. You keep your bibles in your pocket, and push along!" the canid went on.

William chuckled, making his whole form wobble. "That's your choice too, sir. I'm not a proselytizer either."

The canid narrowed his eyes. "You're an educated fur, though. Hardly anyone would use that expression. Well then, if you're not here to sell me some useless potato-peeler, and if you're not going to ask me if I thought about Jesus lately, what can I do for you, sir?"

"You can answer me two simple questions, actually...and they have nothing to do with religion I assure you," William asked, leaning against the picket fence.

The canid turned to face him, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. "Sounds ominous already. But go on. I'd be a lying bastard if I didn't admit to being curious by now. And while my father was certainly not my father, I at least try to stay truthful."

William decided he liked the old fur. Gruffness tended to go well with the old cop. He blew a cloud of cigar smoke away from the old timer, and smiled again.

"Are you Mr. Robert Dane?" he asked.

"Call me Bob, will ya? 'Mr. Robert Dane' makes me think I'm still workin' and I've been retired for three happy years!" the canid answered.

"In that case, I need to ask you about a specific kid you used to teach at the local school. Jeremy Mustela...tell me all about him, if you remember him."

Bob Dane groaned and rolled his eyes. "Good grief...I ought to wash your mouth out with soap for mentioning that name around me," he said, sourly. "Jeremy Mustela was the worst bully I can recall teaching in my more than 40 years as a high school teacher. I fought in the Pacific, sir...got wounded twice and won a Bronze Star for valor, and I'd rather be facing down a regiment of Japanese again than having to teach one more class to that sorry-ass excuse for a fur!"

Inwardly, William was hooting and howling. It seemed his instincts had been right.

"Well, you won't be teaching him again, unless you know a really good medium. He's dead. But I need to know everything about him, or the young femme who shot him may go down for Murder One," he said, evenly.

"You're a cop?"

"I used to be. I'm a private eye these days."

Bob Dane scratched his cheek again. He nodded, slowly, looking the orangutan up and down. "A femme shot him?"

William nodded. "His girlfriend. She was going to break it off with him, after he'd beaten her regularly for six months. He didn't take kindly to it."

"Come on in. Since you're not on duty, I take it you won't object to a beer?"

"Much obliged."

"You tell me everything about this case and I'll tell you everything you need to know," the old school-teacher said, gruffly. "I take it you need me to go on record with this?"

William shrugged. "It would make everything a lot simpler."

Bob Dane nodded and headed inside, beckoning for William to follow him.

###

When he entered the apartment, Esteban could hear Jean was already home. The stereo was playing. Quietly. He'd never been a classical music buff, although he found he liked many of the pieces Jean enjoyed too. He smiled, heading into the living room. He'd bought some pastries at Francois' bakery on the way and felt like sharing a pleasant evening.

The look on Jean's face made him forget all about that. She was holding a tea-mug between her paws, her cheeks wet with tears.

Putting down the pastries he hurried over to the couch, sitting down next to the vixen. It didn't even seem like she realized he was there. Reaching out, he took the mug from her paws and put it gently on the table, before pulling her against him for a gentle hug.

"Hey Chica...what's happened?" he whispered, kissing her hair.

"Just...something at work," she replied, very quietly. "When I got home, my mother called, on top of things..."

Esteban sighed and nodded. Jean's mother had called a couple of times, to talk to the vixen. While Jean was happy that some kind of connection was being reestablished, it also taxed her emotionally. Whenever she hung up after such a call, it'd take several hours for her to fully recover.

"What deed your madre want?" he asked, thinking it was best to start with that.

"The usual. Talk a little. She keeps asking if I won't come to visit her. She's...offered that the last few times. I want to but...I'm scared of going," Jean said, still very quietly.

"There's no point een being scared, Chica. You're going to have to meet her eventuallee. I weell go weeth you. That weell make eet easier, no?"

"It will. Shall we try for some time next week after Miriam's and Fox's wedding?"

The wolf nodded again. That sounded good to him. He had never met Jean's mother and he wasn't sure how it'd go, but he knew they had to do it. Not just for their sakes...but for Francois as well. He'd been very supportive. He'd been a good father to Jean, and as far as Esteban was concerned, that was the only real issue to be considered.

He reached out and took the remote control to the stereo, turning down the volume. Outside, in the streets, the lights turned on. It was rapidly growing darker. The days had lost most of the late-summer warmth. It wasn't cold yet, but it felt colder than it was because the days had been so hot until recently.

"Shall I cook sometheeng to eat, or aren't you hungree, Chica?" he asked, softly.

Jean snuggled up closer. "I'd rather you didn't go anywhere," she answered.

Esteban nodded. He'd ask about what had happened at work later, but he had enough sense about him to realize that now wasn't the right time. Instead, he put his arms around his vixen and started telling her about his day at work. It didn't matter what he said, and he knew it. What mattered was that Jean could hear a friendly voice.

He was hungry. But he could wait until later. This was more important.

###

Malcolm looked out the window of the apartment. The pillar of smoke from Ground Zero had stopped rising long ago, but in his mind, the stallion could still see it. Whenever he looked that way, he still expected the towers to stand there. Tall and inviolable.

At least...he'd thought they were inviolable. Everyone had thought so.

Until that horrible morning.

Now there was a gaping hole in the air. A huge, missing piece, filled with nothing but empty space.

It was awful. But he couldn't make himself turn away. So much had happened lately. He'd been suspected of being a terrorist, on account of nothing but his race. He'd been interrogated...and the fur he bought his fruit from in the morning had turned out to be a former torturer. On the positive side, the show was a huge success and his boss, Rita, had decided to prolong it with two weeks. He'd gotten fantastic reviews in the newspapers. New Yorkers flocked to cultural events...possibly because they needed an outlet to their newfound sense of togetherness.

One of the bigger surprises had been that Timothy's parents had actually made contact with them the day before. Much belated, but at least they had checked to see if their son was alive and well.

Timothy had chosen to believe their explanation that they had been too frightened of the possibility that something had happened to him, to check sooner. They had waited for the casualty-lists to be completed.

That was, at least, their official reason.

Malcolm didn't believe it, but it didn't matter what he believed. Timothy had been strangely happy to hear from his folks. His sister had been emailing from Europe as well. Several times, in fact. As it was, Timothy had more contact with his family now than he'd had for a decade or so...ever since Gabrielle had moved out, apparently.

Malcolm wasn't in contact with his own family, and as far as he was concerned, that was for the better. Timothy knew the whole story, but they never mentioned it. It wasn't talked about and that was a good thing.

Timothy wasn't home. He was due back any moment, though. Malcolm knew he had to get started on dinner. But there were too many thoughts going through his head.

To his own dismay, Malcolm had to admit to himself that his biggest problem was coping with Abu-Yusuf. He still saw the oryx every morning. They still shared a couple of words every day, like they always did...and for all appearances, the fruit-vendor was back to his jolly, jovial self. The jolly, jovial self that he had recently admitted was one big facade...a lie...right here in this very living room.

Malcolm sighed. On one paw, he wanted to tell Abu-Yusuf to go to Hell. That what he'd done in his past was unforgivable and horrible beyond description. But it was the wrong approach, and he knew it. For one thing, the oryx didn't ask for forgiveness or even understanding.

Moreover, Malcolm was curious. He wanted to know more. Abu-Yusuf had opened a bag of horrors, and Malcolm wanted to look back into it. He wanted to know everything there was to know, because somehow...he felt someone HAD to know. He also reminded himself that he couldn't possibly understand what the oryx had experienced. What his life had been like. But it was a window into another world. A world where someone like himself would be hanged from a lamppost, he reminded himself.

Sighing, he realized he didn't know what to do next. He hung his head and stuck his paws in his pockets.

Timothy returning home gave him something else to think about.

"Hey...guess what I found in the mailbox?" the bronco called out. He sounded excited.

"No idea...I haven't checked it today," Malcolm answered, smiling. The cheer in Timothy's voice was infectious.

"A wedding invitation! Can you believe it? It's been underway for weeks. It must've gotten delayed in the whole...you know...with everything that happened," Timothy said, waving an envelope around as he entered the living room.

Malcolm blinked. "What? I hope the wedding hasn't already taken place then. But do we know someone who's getting married??" he asked, grinning. This was the kind of good news that could cheer him up any day of the week.

"Jean and Esteban, can you believe it? The wedding hasn't taken place yet. We've got plenty of time it seems. They say they just want to know if we are coming or not...they'll send us more information about when, when the plans are finalized. It's not even a standard invitation...look?" the bronco continued, holding out a letter.

Malcolm took it and looked it over. True enough, it was a personal letter.

"How considerate. Since we're coming from so far away, they want to give us plenty of advance notice in case we want to attend..." he said, smiling.

"Well, do we?" Timothy asked, looking hopeful.

"Of course we do! We were, let's face it, the last furs to see the old Jean LeBrun. I'm just happy they are getting hitched. I didn't know Ohio law allowed it..."

"It doesn't. But they can still take vows. It'll be just as binding in their minds as a legal wedding."

Malcolm nodded. "Good point. Well then, let's sit down and compose a 'yes, we'll be there'-letter, shall we?"

Timothy grinned widely and ran off to find some paper and a pen.

Malcolm smiled. This had been just the kind of thing he needed.