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Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
karno
16.
Dr. Meffit:
By virtue of my status as a physician, I am used to being awakened in the middle of the night to respond to some emergency or other. Since I am also the Chief Medical Officer for the Spontoon Independencies, I’m also required to be informed of anything that could pose a risk to the public health.
So it happened that sometime after midnight my phone rang, and to avoid awakening Athena, I slipped out of bed and took the call.
My – our – neighbors at the New Haven Embassy were reporting some sort of illness. Symptoms were severe abdominal cramps, diarrhea, and vomiting. A lot of the latter two, it appeared.
The Embassy had called the hospital, and they were already being attended by two doctors from Rain Island who, despite being what the New Havenites might consider heretics, were still socialist and might be somewhat more sympathetic than I.
To say that I generally approved of this would be an understatement. My Hippocratic Oath may demand that I treat the sick without bias or favor, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.
I spoke with one of the attending physicians, who had questioned a few of the patients and informed me that a femme had delivered several fruit pies to the Embassy earlier in the day. The femme was described as a deer, and a “looker.” The doctor added that the staffer didn’t know the femme’s name.
Based on the interview, the doctor and I agreed that whatever was afflicting the New Havenites probably wasn’t contagious, but we would spread the word for the rest of the physicians in the Spontoons to keep a sharp eye out. I added that “don’t take gifts from strangers” might be useful advice for the members of that Embassy, who have not precisely gone out of their way to be friendly. That earned me a laugh from the Rain Island doctor, and we concluded the call.
Before I went back to bed, I was suddenly struck by a series of thoughts:
Rosie Baumgartner is getting married to Inspector Stagg; Athena had come back from the dressmaker’s that afternoon quite effusive about how nice the dress looked.
Inspector Stagg was an ‘Enemy of the People,’ according to the New Haven Embassy. Being their next-door neighbors, it was rather difficult to not be aware of this datum.
Miss Baumgartner had a cervine friend, one Mrs. Willow Buckhorn.
Miss Baumgartner owned a restaurant.
While nowhere near being in the same league as Inspector Stagg in terms of investigative skills, I am a medical examiner, and being able to arrive at a conclusion based on available data was almost second nature. I had arrived at the conclusion that possibly Miss Baumgarter, or her friend, had perpetrated this, which was on a level with some college pranks that I’ve heard of.
Pranks involving baked goods or, in this case, baked bads.
I went back to bed, deciding that if it happened again, I would have a discreet word with Miss Baumgartner. Until it happened again, I would chalk it up to a combination of a prankster and stupidity on the part of the New Havenites.
***
Reggie:
Willow and I were having breakfast in our rooms the next morning, and through the open windows we could hear Father Merino reading out the banns for the traditional third day. Willow looked supremely happy, which obviously made me happy.
Although Willow noticed the look on my face. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“Hrmph. Father Merino didn't make the Spotted One wait for her buck.”
Willow had to set her cup down before she laughed. I suppose we should be grateful she wasn’t drinking from it at the time. “You can't expect Da to fight a duel for her,” she pointed out.
“I suppose not,” I mused, thinking about the contests I fought with Rosie. “Not the Done Thing with rozzers. Unless some of the Underworld volunteered, of course.”
My wife gave a most unladylike snort. “And if you've seen the quality of the criminal element around here, I wouldn't expect them to meet my father's level in checkers.”
I freshened up her cup of tea, and as she added a spoonful of sugar I asked, “Do the lads over in the Embassy improve or degrade it?”
Another snort, followed by her sipping her tea. Setting the cup down, she said, “I doubt most of them can scratch their names in the dirt with a stick, but then I'm biased.”
“I guess there's no Third Division in crime.”
“Strictly minor-league around here,” Willow said, “and I'm not going to bring Krupmark into this.”
“Well, of course not.” Having brought up the idea in the first place, I chose to elaborate upon it. “That really is what the Yard should be doing, you know. A system of relegation and promotion for criminals. Mark you, I don't know if one would want a criminal equivalent of the FA Cup.”
Willow giggled. “I think that'd be fun, so long as they did it far away from innocent bystanders.”
“True. Safety first, don’t you know. Still, I doubt John Snaggletooth would cover it with the same vim as the Boat Races. Meantersay, how do you describe, say, a safecracking? Or even score it?”
“I don't know - time and style points, maybe?” Willow asked.
“Maybe. The lads who stole the Irish Crown Jewels would have certainly won in a canter.”
“True.”
“But not to worry. FRB would never sponsor such a tournament. Fenwick, maybe, but not FRB,” and we shared a brief laugh at the expense of the company’s carnivorous competition. “I say, Willow?”
“Yes, dear?”
“How are things going with your, um, ‘op?’”
Willow grinned.
I am very glad that I’m on her side.
***
Willow:
There were no signs of any activity from the direction of the Embassy, which added to my sunny mood as Reggie and I took Tommy for a stroll. Our buck-fawn was awake and looking around, although not for the first time I had to wonder just what he sees and what he thinks about it. He’s only seven months old, after all.
His mother, however, had her eyes open and her ears swiveling.
The reason? We had picked up a tail shortly after leaving the hotel; two furs, both feline and both mels, wearing shorts and excessively touristy floral shirts. I started to tense up when I also noticed something important.
They weren’t eyeing me.
They were watching Reggie.
“Reggie, dear?”
“Hm? Yes, Willow?”
“We’re being followed. What have you been up to?”
My husband pitched his voice lower, so only I could hear him. “Well, Willow, you know I placed a bet on myself.”
“Ah,” I said, as light dawned. “So they’re bookies?”
“Or people connected to them,” Reggie replied, “waiting to see me do something horrendous.” He smiled. “As if I’d do anything of the sort with you and Tommy around.” As we went around a corner, he glanced behind him. “I have a claque.”
“If you do,” I giggled, “you might want to see a doctor about it.”
***
Rosie:
“What the hell?”
We were getting things ready for the lunch crowd, and there were still dirty dishes in the sink. B’onss was busily drying, but no sign of his twin brother. “B’onss?”
“Yeah, Rosie?”
“Where’s K’nutt?”
“He went to the bathroom.”
My eyes narrowed at B’onss’ air of spurious innocence.
“How long ago?”
“Uh . . . “
“Never mind.” I went in search of the rear half of the pantomime horse who comprised my two handyfurs.
Luchow’s has a sort of side yard to the left of the back door as you’re walking out of the place. To the right of the door’s the walled-in back garden where Franneleh likes to sit and enjoy his few days off. To my left, I could hear a chittering.
And I could also hear K’nutt, stuttering as he tried to explain dialectic.
I came around the corner and growled, “K’nutt.”
My other handyfur was sitting on the ground, with about two dozen pure white fluffballs sitting in front of him. The fluffballs had bushy tails, also pure white, and beady little red eyes.
SAKS, or Spontoon Albino Kaibab Squirrels. Some idiot introduced them to the islands a while back, and they found they liked it here. The Wise Ones and Spontoonie law protect them, the tourists love them, and Franklin’s named one Ishmael and feeds him acorns from time to time.
Me? Sometimes I wish I had a recipe for squirrel pie.
“K’nutt, what are you doing?”
“Oh, h-h-hi R-R-R-Rosie. I’m tr-tr-tr-tryin’ t’ r-r-r-raise their c-c-c-c-“
“Enough,” I said, raising a paw. “You. Dishes. Clean.”
“B-b-but – “
“Now, K’nutt,” I growled, popping a pawful of claws.
He got up and headed inside to get the washing-up finished, and I rounded on the bunch of squirrels. “And you lot,” I said.
“CHIT-chit-rrrr!” one of the little indefinites had the gall to talk back at me.
“Enough of that. You little mamzers need to go do something constructive and stop distracting K’nutt, okeh?”
All of them, all two dozen or so, stared at me, then looked at each other.
“Chit-CHIT!” the one who’d talked back to me said, and they all scattered, scaling walls and trees like they weren’t even there.
I put my claws away and went back inside.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
karno16.
Dr. Meffit:
By virtue of my status as a physician, I am used to being awakened in the middle of the night to respond to some emergency or other. Since I am also the Chief Medical Officer for the Spontoon Independencies, I’m also required to be informed of anything that could pose a risk to the public health.
So it happened that sometime after midnight my phone rang, and to avoid awakening Athena, I slipped out of bed and took the call.
My – our – neighbors at the New Haven Embassy were reporting some sort of illness. Symptoms were severe abdominal cramps, diarrhea, and vomiting. A lot of the latter two, it appeared.
The Embassy had called the hospital, and they were already being attended by two doctors from Rain Island who, despite being what the New Havenites might consider heretics, were still socialist and might be somewhat more sympathetic than I.
To say that I generally approved of this would be an understatement. My Hippocratic Oath may demand that I treat the sick without bias or favor, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.
I spoke with one of the attending physicians, who had questioned a few of the patients and informed me that a femme had delivered several fruit pies to the Embassy earlier in the day. The femme was described as a deer, and a “looker.” The doctor added that the staffer didn’t know the femme’s name.
Based on the interview, the doctor and I agreed that whatever was afflicting the New Havenites probably wasn’t contagious, but we would spread the word for the rest of the physicians in the Spontoons to keep a sharp eye out. I added that “don’t take gifts from strangers” might be useful advice for the members of that Embassy, who have not precisely gone out of their way to be friendly. That earned me a laugh from the Rain Island doctor, and we concluded the call.
Before I went back to bed, I was suddenly struck by a series of thoughts:
Rosie Baumgartner is getting married to Inspector Stagg; Athena had come back from the dressmaker’s that afternoon quite effusive about how nice the dress looked.
Inspector Stagg was an ‘Enemy of the People,’ according to the New Haven Embassy. Being their next-door neighbors, it was rather difficult to not be aware of this datum.
Miss Baumgartner had a cervine friend, one Mrs. Willow Buckhorn.
Miss Baumgartner owned a restaurant.
While nowhere near being in the same league as Inspector Stagg in terms of investigative skills, I am a medical examiner, and being able to arrive at a conclusion based on available data was almost second nature. I had arrived at the conclusion that possibly Miss Baumgarter, or her friend, had perpetrated this, which was on a level with some college pranks that I’ve heard of.
Pranks involving baked goods or, in this case, baked bads.
I went back to bed, deciding that if it happened again, I would have a discreet word with Miss Baumgartner. Until it happened again, I would chalk it up to a combination of a prankster and stupidity on the part of the New Havenites.
***
Reggie:
Willow and I were having breakfast in our rooms the next morning, and through the open windows we could hear Father Merino reading out the banns for the traditional third day. Willow looked supremely happy, which obviously made me happy.
Although Willow noticed the look on my face. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“Hrmph. Father Merino didn't make the Spotted One wait for her buck.”
Willow had to set her cup down before she laughed. I suppose we should be grateful she wasn’t drinking from it at the time. “You can't expect Da to fight a duel for her,” she pointed out.
“I suppose not,” I mused, thinking about the contests I fought with Rosie. “Not the Done Thing with rozzers. Unless some of the Underworld volunteered, of course.”
My wife gave a most unladylike snort. “And if you've seen the quality of the criminal element around here, I wouldn't expect them to meet my father's level in checkers.”
I freshened up her cup of tea, and as she added a spoonful of sugar I asked, “Do the lads over in the Embassy improve or degrade it?”
Another snort, followed by her sipping her tea. Setting the cup down, she said, “I doubt most of them can scratch their names in the dirt with a stick, but then I'm biased.”
“I guess there's no Third Division in crime.”
“Strictly minor-league around here,” Willow said, “and I'm not going to bring Krupmark into this.”
“Well, of course not.” Having brought up the idea in the first place, I chose to elaborate upon it. “That really is what the Yard should be doing, you know. A system of relegation and promotion for criminals. Mark you, I don't know if one would want a criminal equivalent of the FA Cup.”
Willow giggled. “I think that'd be fun, so long as they did it far away from innocent bystanders.”
“True. Safety first, don’t you know. Still, I doubt John Snaggletooth would cover it with the same vim as the Boat Races. Meantersay, how do you describe, say, a safecracking? Or even score it?”
“I don't know - time and style points, maybe?” Willow asked.
“Maybe. The lads who stole the Irish Crown Jewels would have certainly won in a canter.”
“True.”
“But not to worry. FRB would never sponsor such a tournament. Fenwick, maybe, but not FRB,” and we shared a brief laugh at the expense of the company’s carnivorous competition. “I say, Willow?”
“Yes, dear?”
“How are things going with your, um, ‘op?’”
Willow grinned.
I am very glad that I’m on her side.
***
Willow:
There were no signs of any activity from the direction of the Embassy, which added to my sunny mood as Reggie and I took Tommy for a stroll. Our buck-fawn was awake and looking around, although not for the first time I had to wonder just what he sees and what he thinks about it. He’s only seven months old, after all.
His mother, however, had her eyes open and her ears swiveling.
The reason? We had picked up a tail shortly after leaving the hotel; two furs, both feline and both mels, wearing shorts and excessively touristy floral shirts. I started to tense up when I also noticed something important.
They weren’t eyeing me.
They were watching Reggie.
“Reggie, dear?”
“Hm? Yes, Willow?”
“We’re being followed. What have you been up to?”
My husband pitched his voice lower, so only I could hear him. “Well, Willow, you know I placed a bet on myself.”
“Ah,” I said, as light dawned. “So they’re bookies?”
“Or people connected to them,” Reggie replied, “waiting to see me do something horrendous.” He smiled. “As if I’d do anything of the sort with you and Tommy around.” As we went around a corner, he glanced behind him. “I have a claque.”
“If you do,” I giggled, “you might want to see a doctor about it.”
***
Rosie:
“What the hell?”
We were getting things ready for the lunch crowd, and there were still dirty dishes in the sink. B’onss was busily drying, but no sign of his twin brother. “B’onss?”
“Yeah, Rosie?”
“Where’s K’nutt?”
“He went to the bathroom.”
My eyes narrowed at B’onss’ air of spurious innocence.
“How long ago?”
“Uh . . . “
“Never mind.” I went in search of the rear half of the pantomime horse who comprised my two handyfurs.
Luchow’s has a sort of side yard to the left of the back door as you’re walking out of the place. To the right of the door’s the walled-in back garden where Franneleh likes to sit and enjoy his few days off. To my left, I could hear a chittering.
And I could also hear K’nutt, stuttering as he tried to explain dialectic.
I came around the corner and growled, “K’nutt.”
My other handyfur was sitting on the ground, with about two dozen pure white fluffballs sitting in front of him. The fluffballs had bushy tails, also pure white, and beady little red eyes.
SAKS, or Spontoon Albino Kaibab Squirrels. Some idiot introduced them to the islands a while back, and they found they liked it here. The Wise Ones and Spontoonie law protect them, the tourists love them, and Franklin’s named one Ishmael and feeds him acorns from time to time.
Me? Sometimes I wish I had a recipe for squirrel pie.
“K’nutt, what are you doing?”
“Oh, h-h-hi R-R-R-Rosie. I’m tr-tr-tr-tryin’ t’ r-r-r-raise their c-c-c-c-“
“Enough,” I said, raising a paw. “You. Dishes. Clean.”
“B-b-but – “
“Now, K’nutt,” I growled, popping a pawful of claws.
He got up and headed inside to get the washing-up finished, and I rounded on the bunch of squirrels. “And you lot,” I said.
“CHIT-chit-rrrr!” one of the little indefinites had the gall to talk back at me.
“Enough of that. You little mamzers need to go do something constructive and stop distracting K’nutt, okeh?”
All of them, all two dozen or so, stared at me, then looked at each other.
“Chit-CHIT!” the one who’d talked back to me said, and they all scattered, scaling walls and trees like they weren’t even there.
I put my claws away and went back inside.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Skunk
Size 397 x 600px
File Size 86.5 kB
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