User:JonBuck/Changing America
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{{#ifeq: User |User| Changing America: A Paradise Story | Changing America: A Paradise Story}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Changing America: A Paradise Story | Changing America: A Paradise Story}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}} | |
{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}} | ||
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}}| ]]
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Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}} | |
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Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| JonBuck | JonBuck}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Jon Buck | Jon Buck}}]]
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March 15, 2010
"Lousy Smarch weather!" Richard growled, shaking his fist at the storm. It couldn't decide if it wanted to snow or rain. The fedora-wearing tiger slowly maneuvered the '88 Jeep Grand Wagoneer that was their friend Mike Dane's wedding present. His new wife, Serena Sobel, looked worriedly out at the icy eastern Massachusetts weather. She was still in her red Chinese-style wedding dress and understandably didn't want to ruin it. Her grandmother had made it.
"I'm telling you we should've gone home first, husband-of-mine. You could've carried me over the threshold," the clouded leopardess said. "Through the dry garage."
The reception had gone late. It was full of bartenders, so Serena had gotten into an impromptu competition on who could make the best cocktails. Liquor and catering provided by the owner of her workplace, the coyote Chuck Polinsky. She hadn't had any herself. At maybe 130 pounds, since her Change she'd lost most of her alcohol tolerance. She enjoyed a beer every now and again, but had sworn off the hard stuff. Even her beloved tequila.
"I know, my loving wife. I know. I just didn't want to waste any time," Rich said. He reached out with his free handpaw and stroked her near shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll stop under the portico at the hotel. I'm more worried about all this crap the Jeep's been painted with. I don't think I've ever seen so much soap and silly string."
The "Just Married" written in soap on the back window had washed off half an hour ago. The storm had worn away much of the decorations, leaving only a few sad streamers tied to the roof rack. The Grand Wagoneer's V-8 growled as Richard maneuvered the newly-"reFURbished" SUV on the icy roads in the Berkshires.
"Maybe we should've waited until June for our honeymoon," Serena said, examining her clipped, red-polished claws. "Or even May."
"Either I took the assignment now or my editor was going to give it to that pissant moron Kevin." He extended his sizable claws, baring his canine teeth. "Damn fool can't report his way out of a paper bag, let alone cover the Change on a national scale! How the hell did he dodge the last round of layoffs?"
"That's the guy who likes to use that laser pointer around you, isn't it?" Serena said.
Richard nodded. "That's him. If I'd had better self control the first time..."
"It was your first day back at work, honey. Besides, we're cats. Chasing and pouncing things is what we do."
The Bengal tiger snorted. "I hope he turns into a rabbit. Then he'll think twice."
The TomTom GPS stuck on the windshield lit up. "Turn right at the next stop light in two miles, then you'll be at your destination, fool!" Mr. T ordered. As they closed in, the furries felt the telltale tingle of entering the Lenox Bubble. A warning helpfully flashed on the GPS also. Some people still liked to avoid the Bubbles. Some furries still didn't want to expose themselves, and some humans wanted to avoid seeing them. Both groups were in the minority. Inexplicably, in Serena and her husband's view.
The Kemble Inn was a bed-and-breakfast built in 1881, and it didn't have a portico. Pulling his specially-fitted fedora over his ears, Richard flipped up the collar on his trench coat. He refused to use an umbrella, preferring the old-fashioned look from the old detective movies he loved so much. With the collar up, the only thing Serena could see were his ears and striped muzzle. He leaned over and licked her on the cheek. "Be right back, hon. Hold tight."
Serena carefully smoothed down the front of her slick scarlet wedding dress. There were pink roses embroidered by her grandmother down the front. It hugged her figure all the way down to her ankles, with a slashed skirt and bare shoulders. Her hair had been done up in an elaborate Chinese coif. Sure, she could have taken it off before they'd left Rooney's, but she was still hoping for her tiger to carry her over the threshold. "I hate spring," she muttered, folding her arms under her breasts. The Jeep's leather seats were covered in the couple's shed fur. Serena fished a lint brush out of her purse and ran it over her wedding dress.
Sleet pounded on the windows as she waited in the yellow sodium light for her new husband to return.
Serena made a sour face over Richard's shoulder. "What I want to know is, who the hell came up with 'Furpocalypse'. What a ball of cheese."
"Every major newspaper has something like this, honey. Beside, you agreed to write from the 'female perspective' for this thing," Richard pointed out. He sighed and turned away from the laptop. "It was Kevin, if you must know."
"Oh, ROB help us. He's not an editor, is he?"
"No. Just another contributor. They're keeping him in New England. This is going to be our first real entry, Serena darling. Any idea how you're going to start?"
There was one obvious topic. "How about fur and Chinese wedding dresses?"
{{#if:r|{{#if:Boston Globe Furpocalypse Blog, March 15, 2010, 9:48 pm|
Boston Globe Furpocalypse Blog, March 15, 2010, 9:48 pm 
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