Take Two: Been Down to the Crossroads

Gill opened his mouth to curse. . .And not a damn word came out.  Shriller squirrel barks echoed until canine barks answered.  Gill slid the minute guitar off his shoulder ready to toss it down and stomp off.  He glanced around.  No one—not any one of significance—would notice.  So friggin’ much for being the Peak’s most sought after ambassador.

In the darker corners of the photo studio, a muffle laugh could be heard.  Gill wanted to shield his eyes and find the culprit.  The ass would answer or face. . . frig it twice over.  Whose bright numb nutted idea was this?  Some social secretary? A moronic public relations left over from Link’s crew?  Gill would find out who hired the dumb one once they stop letting the moonlight in through the window.

“This way Mr. Mayor.  Smile for the camera.  Just a few more shots and the calendar will be done.”  Gill fought the urge to jump off the table and run up the photographer’s pant leg.  Gnaw his way up to his. . .nope those nuts would leave one huge nasty taste that he’d never get rid of as squirrel or human.

Gill sighed and closed his eyes as flashes stopped blinding him.  Much more and spots would be haunting him in his sleep if he was ever allowed any again.  Three throats cleared.  Gill ignored them.  A few minutes reprieve he’d earned.  Even something more substantial than a miniscule ground up nuts.  Hell, give ‘em a beer.  A tall cold stout ale made from Dante’s microbrewery.  A fine steak from Louie’s personal stash and . . .

“Come on Mr. Mayor.  Time to change into the Santa Claus costume.”  Gill set the guitar down on the stand next to him and he leaned on it.  If anyone read squirrel body language they would have thought twice about their next remark and the props they dragged onto the table.  Six stuffed catnip mice looped with yarn and a miniature sleigh complete with seat and reins.  Somewhere in the outer office a loud cat yowl was heard.  Gill swallowed hard.

“Be careful don’t let the cat in,” someone shouted.  Gill looked behind him as a white blur leapt toward him.  He swallowed hard, counted and prayed.  He jumped and dove into the first open space he saw.  

Ten minutes later the photographer’s assistant began shucking her clothes and cussing about a perverted squirrel in her thong panties and lapping up and over her lacy covered breasts.