A brief message from the author: As fair warning to whomever may deem this story worthy of reading, this tale leans in a direction that may prove to have somewhat more mature content than the standard TTA Fan-Fic. Although, I'm sure that this will not detract from the story itself, I do feel obligated to let you know enough to brace yourselves in advance.

Thank you.                                                                                                         Abel DuSable

    It was a chilly Thursday morning in Acme Acres when Furrball Cat looked up at the building across the street. He rechecked the address on the scrap of newspaper in his hand before reexamining his options. The days were getting shorter and colder, soon it would start snowing. There was simply -no way- he was going to live out on the street for another winter. The last time, he froze solid and didn't thaw out until springtime. He needed a home, a REAL home. He had waited long enough for someone to adopt him into a loving household, with little more than bruises and lacerations to show for it. Now it was time for him to take his life into his own hands and out of the writer's.

   The problem, was money... He had been written as a homeless stray with few real skills to call upon. As a result that's what he became... mostly. But there were some things that not even the great and powerful WB could take away from a toon... first and foremost he was an actor. This counted as an acting job, right? After all, you adopt one persona for the duration and then leave it behind when you go home at night. In the end that's what it boiled down to... wasn't it? Furrball shivered as a gust of frosty wind caressed his spine and solidified his decision. He ran across the empty street and into the women's nightclub, "Velvet Dreams". As Plucky had once put it... sometimes you just had to swallow your pride.

   Furrball examined the ceiling for the umpteenth time in the past hour. He had been in line with a group of thirty other 'applicants' and things weren't looking good. He was up against some serious competition. The other animals possessed a wide variety of body types and all had very handsome faces. Furrball was beginning to feel downright plain in comparison. To make matters worse, some of them were exotic animals.

   Behind him a Komodo dragon scratched at an errant itch while a Giraffe passed the time by reading over the shoulder of a Bengal Tiger, who had the foresight to bring along a short novel. He sighed and debated the wisdom of a quiet retreat when the door to the office opened and a female voice called out, "NEXT!", as a pitch-black Sable trudged out. Furrball looked at the lineup and realized that HE was the next in line.

   He hesitated when the Komodo Dragon gave him a gentle push. "Go'wan. No sense in holding up the line." Furrball forced his heart out of his throat and back into his chest before he quietly strode in, meekly shutting the door behind him. The interior of the office was nice. Deep, plush, maroon carpeting covered the floor while the walls were an eggshell white. A pile of paint cans and brushes sat on a dropcloth off to one side indicating that it was a work in progress. There was a large mahogany desk at the far end of the room and behind it sat a striking Vixen in a business suit. The nameplate on her desk read 'Miss Vixson'.

   She seemed occupied with paperwork at first but without even looking up she motioned for him to be seated. Furrball did as he was indicated and sat in the leather chair in front of the desk. The silence continued for another minute, she then placed the papers off to one side, folded her hands and looked at him in the way a schoolmarm would a young pupil.

"Well, Mr. Cat." She said in a cool even tone. " I've been looking over your resume and I do like a few of the things I am seeing here. Acting background, dancing skills, takes instruction easily. On the other hand I already have a good number of domestic cats working here. I'd like you to show me what you have to offer."

   Furrball understood all too well what was being asked of him. He stood up, reached up just under his chin, finding the well-concealed zipper of his fursuit, and slowly drew it down his front.

   Like a large number of toons, Furrball had been issued a Compression suit at the beginning of the series. They forced the body of a toon into a certain shape so that their look remains constant throughout a cartoon series. This was especially important on the set of Tiny Toons because most of the characters were just entering the age of puberty and were all beginning to 'develop'.

   Now at the age of 21 Furrball's body was at it's full adult size and as he peeled the fursuit from his body it expanded to its true dimensions. He was of average height, with a lean, slender build. His muscles were long, rather than round; emphasizing flexibility rather than strength, like a gymnast.

   He let the suit fall to the floor and stood there in nothing but his electric-blue boxers. He couldn't help but blush, as Miss Vixson looked him over like an art dealer appraising a potential acquisition. She smiled slightly at this and then spoke.

"You have a good build and I will admit your face is easy on the eyes but as I said, I already have my fair share of cats in my employ. Unless you can bring something special to my club that will set you apart from the other performers I'm afraid I can't use you."

He started to panic. This was probably the only job he could do in all of Acme Acres. He couldn't just let it slip through his fingers.

"I thought not." She said, turning to the next resume.

"WAIT!" Furrball blurted out surprising both himself and the club owner. "I... do have something special... sort of."

"Oh? And that would be?"

"May I... have some music? Please?"

The Vixen smiled and slid a tape into an unseen port in the desk and slow, sultry music filled the air.

"Knock yourself out kid," she said, leaning back in her chair to watch the show.

Furrball closed his eyes a moment and let the feel of the music penetrate his body. The pulse of the sound around him was swaying every fiber of his being. His hips and tail moved to the left, then the right. His shoulders slowly circled in their sockets until his feet sashayed him across the floor.

He stopped, looked over his shoulder at her with the best 'bedroom eyes' he could and swished his tail up into his waiting hands. He caressed it's length before coming to the bandages at it's tip and with a deliberately gentle touch unwrapped it. The result was surprising.

There was a gentle whisper of fur expanding and his tail sprung back to it's true luxurious, Full-bodied form. He then released it and it moved around his body like a living mink stole, touching and stroking him.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Miss Vixson was indeed watching him more closely now. Unaware that her own hand was mimicking the motions of his tail. He knew he had his foot in the door and there was no turning back. He slowly bent over, picked up one of the cans of paint and read the label. Latex was the word he was looking for.

He opened the lid, dipped two fingers inside and with a deliberate, slow, motion touched his muzzle with them, just before his nose. He then slid them up to his forehead parting them ever so slightly and continued their snail's pace journey over his scalp and down the back of his neck.

From there he dragged them down the length of his spine where his natural suppleness aided him in succeeding without having to remove his fingers from their course to the small of his back and from there to the end of his bushy tail.

He wiped the remaining paint from his fingers onto the dropcloth and then reached up and folded his ears over giving them the illusion of appearing rounded. Finally he ran his palms over his cheeks setting his droopy cheekfur to a far more rounded look before turning back to Miss Vixson who watched with her jaw wide open.

"What you tink chere?" he purred in a thick Cajun accent "Does Furrball get de job or does he go elsewhere wit his talents?"

Now it was her turn to swallow her heart.

"You- you're a cross species impersonator?"

"Not as profession no. But if it help."

"That's... incredible. I didn't know that any toons still did >THAT< sort of thing."

"Uhm... well, I have de experience in dis area. Last job Furrball was in I 'ad to do dis de few times. Skunk was de first ting they asked... for laughs you know."

"They were running a risk. That kind of humor isn't exactly PC these days, nor is 'impersonation'. However... you could easily pass yourself off as a skunk. The Possibilities are mind boggling... can you do anything else?"

"Don know chere. Never tried. Trow Furrball something and he give it his best. Kay?"

"Uhhh. Rabbit! Try a rabbit."

Furrball unfolded his ears, wrapped his hands around them and gave them a solid tug. They stretched upwards until they were about a foot in length and conversely his tail retracted into his butt until only a small white and blue cottontail remained. He then pulled and pressed his teeth until he had the desired result. His canines were no longer visible but his front teeth had transformed into a long strong set of buckteeth.

He placed his hands on his hips and smiled

"Howdy! The name's Buck Bunny" he drawled in a perfect western accent. "Ah hain't related t'Babs Bunny but ah shore wouldn't mind being that way."

"Wow... what about a dog? Can you do dogs?"

   Furrball smiled and nodded. The motion caused his long rabbit-like ears to fall loose and hang at the side of his head. He readjusted his teeth back to their original positions before seizing his muzzle and slowly stretching it an additional eight inches forward. His facial features now set the way he wished Furrball then began to reach for the ceiling, and his body, like carnival taffy elongated. Unlike the sweet confectionery however, his arms and legs shortened in response to his torso's increased length.

He ceased the reach, pulled his tail out slightly and turned to face his awestruck audience of one. Asides from the twin white stripes that marred the effect the illusion was impeccable.

"You would haf position for unemployed Dachshund? Ja?" He inquired with a thick German accent.

   Miss Vixson shifted uncomfortably in her seat, toying with her collar. Furrball hadn't spent half of his life on the streets of Acme Acres without learning how to read people by their expressions. He could practically see those wheels turning in her head, thinking of all the possibilities.

However in spite of that little skill of his, he didn't see her next question coming.

"Can you do Foxes?"

He froze for a moment. Unlike the other requests this one was direct, and calculated. Then there was the issue that she was a striking Vixen asking a half-naked actor to become a Fox in the privacy of her office.

This was dangerous ethical ground here. Did he DARE to fulfill this request?

If he did, was he willing to take the risk of where it might lead?

'Winter' he told himself. 'Think only of the winter.'

Thoughts of having to endure another season of ice and snow filled his head, calming him, shaping his thoughts to the task before him and keeping them pure.

   If things got out of hand, he would run out of this building as fast as he could and never look back. A long time ago he had promised himself that the casting couch was never an option, even for a starving actor... or one that would spend another winter in cryogenic suspension... again.

   He raised his hands to his face once more and cupped them around his muzzle. A few moments of firm kneading and it became the sleeker and more pointed set of jaws he wanted. Taking the fur on his cheeks between his fingers he gave a gentle tug giving his face a more angular appearance. He gave his head gentle shake and his ears retracted to their normal pointed appearance.

   Reaching down he took hold of the stubby tail behind him and pulled it all the ways out, allowing the entire bushy length to drape to the floor. He bent forwards and tried to touch his toes and his body responded. His arms stretched to reach his feet, his legs stretched to deny his hands that privilege and between the two his body adjusted to a more reasonable size. Not long, not short but sleek and muscular just the same. Furrball allowed himself a moment of reflection. Tail, ears, body, limbs, face... somewhere, something was missing from the mix. Something that made him feel... incomplete.

His tail swished in front of him and the white stripe on the deep blue fur caught his eye.

Color! That's what he forgot. Not too many blue foxes in these parts... or anywhere else. If the effect was to be complete, he had only one option.

He moved to the dropcloth, dipped his entire paw into the water-soluble paint and began to lovingly smear it across himself in long luxurious strokes.

He took his time, there was no need to hurry. The act of becoming filled his mind, he became only marginally aware of her as he worked the paint along his neck and under his chin.

   It seemed like an eternity but his fur eventually changed from two shades of blue to a singular pigment of white. From the tips of his ears to the end of his tail he had become a white Fox. He lay on the dropsheet and propped himself up on one elbow.

"Well? Am I everything you wanted me to be?" He asked her with a smirk gracing his lips.

She stared at him a moment like a deer caught in headlights before snapping out of it.

Damn. I can't tell the difference and I should know! This... this could be big. Welcome aboard Mr. Cat. I'll show you around personally.... Do you know how much money you're going to make me?"

"Uh... no. But I might find out after my first paycheck."

"Abso-yiffing-lutly!"

She was across the room in a heartbeat and Furrball found himself being dragged out into the hallway by the arm. She gave the other applicants a quick scan before tightening her grip on his arm.

"Sorry boys. Position's filled." She apologized before hauling her precious cargo into a side door in the hall and shutting it behind them.

   Furrball gazed about in wonder at the room they had just entered. It was obviously the main performance area, the T-shaped stage and silver poles on the far side were definite giveaways. About thirty tables were scattered throughout the audience area and a series of barstools surrounded the stage, most likely for those patrons who wished a better view. An antique oak bar was to his left for serving drinks and to the right was a tall Disk Jockey's booth.

The Vixen interrupted his personal observations.

"Well, Mr. Furrball. As you can no doubt tell, this is the main area. All performances take place here. I'm sure that after a few days you'll get comfortable to the idea of dozens of ladies watching you dance night after night."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Please, if you're going to be so formal I'd rather you use my last name."

"Yes Miss Vixson."

"That's better. We operate between the hours of seven in the evening and three in the morning. Alcohol is served to our customers and they can become a little rowdy at times but I do have security personnel on hand at all business hours. I take good care of my employees Mr. Furrball. Your paycheck includes a modest budget that should cover your entire dental, medical and grooming costs... within reason of course. My performers may be high maintenance, but there is such a thing as paying too much."

Miss Vixson smiled at Furrball and gave his shoulder a pat.

"Just don't jerk me around and we'll get along just fine."

"Yes Miss Vixson."

The sound of soft cursing rose from the DJ's podium and Miss Vixson chuckled in response.

"Ah, I see one of your coworkers is hard at work. I suppose now is as good a time as any, for you two to meet. DeiJei, could you give us a moment here?"

   The cursing stopped and up popped a young female feline. She was covered in scarlet fur with an ivory white patch that encompassed her throat and muzzle and a long wild mane of black hair that graced her head like a dark nimbus. She was wearing yellow-brown, leather, work gloves; a pair of cutoffs and a form fitting, Grateful Dead, T-shirt.

Furrball actually caught himself staring at her. She was very beautiful, although her muscles seemed unusually well developed for a cat. He decided that she must work out a great deal for such a fine physique.

"This is DeeJei our musical coordination engineer."

"That means I play the tunes." The feline added.

"She is here to help you choose appropriate music, create your act and make best use of the whole stage."

"That too."

"Once you get your act down, you bring it to me. I have to approve everything that goes on that stage."

"She means it."

"I don't mind things getting a little... intense. However, I am not a flesh peddler. I have some standards in place and I have to uphold them otherwise, this place gets shut down."

"And we're all out on the street."

"So keep inside the lines and we'll all be happy."

"And she signs your paycheck."

"Now please follow me, I have to introduce you to your fellow performers."

"Nice talking to you." Purred DeeJei as she watched Furrball follow his new employer.

A small set of stairs had been set into the side of the stage and Miss Vixson led Furrball up onto the stage and through the curtains to the area behind. The other side was fairly standard for any backstage. It was dimly lit; ropes and spare lighting abounded as if they replicated on their own. A small group of stagehands were in the middle of setting up for the evening's show. The master control panel sat to one side with a mass of rigs and pulleys. In the middle of it all, Furrball took a moment to let the ambiance settle in. For the first time in years, he felt a familiar feeling return. Something deep within that he was missing and had now found. He didn't have the words to express it or even quantify it, but for some reason... in spite of his new profession... he felt comfortable.

Miss Vixson looked back, noticed his hesitation and stopped in front of a door marked 'CAST'.

"Is there a problem Furrball?"

"I... didn't expect any part of your... nightclub to look so much like a theatre."

"Actually, it used to -BE- a theater. It was abandoned by it's owners a long time ago and I bought it for my own purposes. It took a lot of work to get it looking this way."

"But still... you'd never suspect..."

"Well, the upper half of the audience area was cut off in an attempt to turn it into a twin screen movie house in the early eighties, then they ran out of money. After my own renovations it became harder to recognize than ever. Only the lower levels and the backstage area remain MOSTLY intact. I use the upper half as offices, storage and living space."

"Living space?"

"Keeps me close to my investment. Even on my sick days I can keep an eye on everyone. Consider that your warning."

"Thank you, I will."

"Excellent. Now, if you'll just walk this way we can finish this little tour."

   She swung the door open allowing Furrball to walk through first into the brightly-lit room beyond. His eyes took a moment to adjust, and when they did, he had a bit of a start. There were about a dozen animal toons lounging about what might qualify as a "green room", watching a soccer game on TV. Not only was there an unusually high mix of predator and prey in the group but they were all in various stages of undress.

They all turned their heads as one to acknowledge Miss Vixson standing in the threshold but Furrball noted that there was no comical rush to cover themselves as would be expected in such a situation.

"They're used to me walking in without warning. At ease boys, I'm just here to introduce you to the club's newest performer."

A few of the males groaned and began to hand money over to a black cat in a satin robe. Miss Vixson suddenly looked completely out of the loop.

"All right you guys, I'll bite. What was THAT all about?"

"Well, Vixy, it's like this...", a Lynx in a pair of cutoffs began, "We had a betting pool on how long it would take you to hire a Fox as a dancer. Blake, just won."

"Thank you, Wilbur, and I'm sorry to disappoint the lot of you... especially you, Blake, but Furrball here's not a fox, he's a cross species impersonator."

Blake groaned as he handed back the money and everyone else craned their necks to take a better look at Furrball.

"Before you begin asking the obvious questions I should introduce you all proper. Everyone... this is Furrball Cat. Furrball... these are the other performers. The Black cat is Blake, The Lynx is Wilbur, the thirty point buck is... Buck, the Crocodile is Hogan, Chuck's the Falcon but he prefers to go by the name of Raptor. Those two Ring-Tailed Lemurs in the corner are Carl and Jessie, the Ram is Joshua, Stan is the Chameleon... that's -IF- you can see him back there. Uhm, then there's Roger our resident Tortoise, Knoll is the Chipmunk, and rounding out the team is Winston, whom you no doubt can guess is a Wolf."

   Everyone waved to Furrball in succession as each name was called. All in all they seemed nice enough. Of course they were a far cry from the Tiny Toons cast. He knew he should tread lightly at first or he might wind up alienating himself from them before any friendships could be formed.

A high musical trill filled the air for a moment and Miss Vixson pulled a Cell-phone from her pocket and opened it.

"Vixson here. Speak. Yes... Uh huh... Aw crap. No, Fine! I'll be right there. Yeah. Don't worry about it. Bye." She looked apologetically at Furrball before explaining. "I'm sorry to cut this short but I really have to deal with something right now. The guys can show you the ropes from here on out. If you have any problems just let me know. All right?"

   With those words Miss Vixson opened the door and left Furrball alone with the other performers. It was at this time that Buck clapped his hand down on Furrball's shoulder in a friendly fashion and spoke in a deep voice that possessed a gentle rumble.

"I know you're new here so there's just a few things we'd like to clear up around here first. Let us know if you're not comfortable using the shower at the same time as the rest of us. I know it seems strange that in an occupation that involves getting undressed in front of dozens of total strangers that you can be shy showering among a handful of friends, but it happens."

"I suppose there's some truth to that."

"Next," interjected Wilbur "we never go all-the-way onstage. Down to the shorts and that's it. If you expected to do some Fritzing, you came to the wrong place. We still have -SOME- dignity here."

"I'm comfortable with that."

"While you're working here it helps if you keep the sensuous adjectives down to a minimum." Yawned Blake

"Beg pardon?"

"Well... some people might have a little trouble with the imagery of us dancing onstage, so just try not to let the writer get carried away with the creative metaphors and the like."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do."

"So, what is it that you do?" inquired Hogan as he reclined in a well-worn easy chair.

"I thought that Miss Vixson explained that already. I..."

"Oh we already covered WHAT you can do. What I meant is... what do you DO? What's your thing? Your act... your little twist for the ladies? We each have something that makes us special here."

"I used to be one of the original Chip N' Dale Dancers." Laughed Knoll.

"Yeah, -REAL- funny Knoll. I'm sure Furrball hasn't heard that one yet. Y'see, we try to make each of our acts as original as possible so that we don't bore our audience with a bunch of similar acts. For example, Josh may only perform his act once a month but it involves a set of shears."

Joshua grinned and placed his hands on his hips.

"What can I say, it's a talent."

"Carl and Jessie perform a double act, every move one does is perfectly mirrored by the other. They really make use of our symmetrical stage. Buck is quite popular doing his 'Lord of the Forest' routine. All decked out in ivy, grapes and a toga... the femmes love that kind of mythic quality."

Buck smiled sheepishly, and shrugged. A look that seemed out of place on a Deer his size.

"So as I said, what do you do?

"Well..." he began with hesitation, "I don't really have an act yet. Letting her know about the cross-species thing was a bit of an ad-lib on my part."

"Well, just to let you know, better start working on one." Chuckled Winston. "When I first started here I was sent onstage in the first week. With your talents I'd recommend you having something by Monday."

"I don't suppose you have any questions." Asked Carl as Jessie preened his fur.

"Actually I do... you mentioned a shower earlier. I really should wash the paint off before it sets." said Furrball finally realizing just how sticky he was feeling.

   Everyone laughed and pointed him in the direction of the communal shower. After being provided with a spare towel Furrball experienced his first hot shower in what felt like ages. He had cleaned himself up earlier in the day using the fountain in the park but it paled in comparison to the sensation of hot water bubbling through your fur. The water turned white in its journey down his feline form before running down the drain releasing him from his first problem but bringing the next one to the forefront of his mind.

He needed an act, and quickly by the sounds of it. Judging by the descriptions the others had given him of their acts, he would have to get creative. How could he use his transformative talent to his advantage?

   He finished his shower, shut off the water and shook himself dry. His fur was once again back to its twin shades of blue and the hot water had helped his Aniplasm to relax back to its proper and more comfortable 'Furrball' shape. Slipping back into his shorts he realized he had left his Compression suit back in Miss Vixson's office. He draped the towel over his shoulders and entered the next room where he got a few stares from the other dancers.

"Hey Furrball, I thought you said you were going to wash the paint out of your fur. Not put on a fresh coat." Commented Wilbur with a quizzical expression.

"Actually, blue is my natural coloring." He explained

"Yeah, right. Next thing you'll tell me is that skunks can come in shades of purple too."

"Uh... Well, all, I know is that I've had this color since as long as I can remember. I don't suppose anybody could get my suit from Miss Vixson's office for me. It's a long, drafty trip there."

"I'll do it as soon as this video's over." Said Wilbur, lazily.

"What are you watching now?"

"Music Television's top 10. Pull up a chair, you're not going to go anywhere, anytime soon."

   Seeing the wisdom in this Furrball found himself a stool and made himself comfortable. While it was true he had been exposed to television in the past he had never owned one in his life much less ever seen the Music Television station. He was fascinated, the people, the music, the almost dream-like qualities in the videos caught his fancy... and he began to plan.

   Four days later it was a typical Monday night at Velvet Dreams. Hogan, Knoll, Chuck, Roger and Winston danced for the ladies and had been rewarded for their efforts by the usual cheers and shrill whistles but the evening was growing old and there was one last act to go.

   Furrball waited backstage for his cue and tried to quell the butterflys in his stomach. During Tiny Toons he had always suffered from opening night jitters, he had hoped it was one tradition he had left behind but it continued to plague him... but being honest with himself, he'd probably miss it.

   Winston finished his act and slipped through the curtains, his fur shining with a mix of sweat and oil. Exhausted, he looked over at Furrball and gave a grin.

"You're up in fifteen, rookie and I'm a tough act to follow. Break a leg."

Furrball braced himself and prepared to go onstage.

   Up in her perch within the DJ's podium, DeeJei slid CD number 56 into the machine and her finger hovered over the 'Play' button. With a flick of her other paw the lights went from blue and red to white and amber with some serious reflection off of the disco ball. With everything else ready she cleared her throat, leaned into her microphone and hit 'Play'

"We got ourselves a special treat tonight girls. A spicy Latin-American dish that looks familiar and might be similar. Velvet Dreams, proudly presents... I Can't Believe He's Not Ricky The Martin!!!"

The club's sound system began to pump out Ricky's hit song "Shake your Bun-Buns" and Furrball strutted out on stage and the audience went wild.

Making himself look more Martin-like was the easy part. A little Dirty-blond hair coloring, a longer body and shorter limbs easy enough... but it took him six hours of Ricky Music Videos to get the exact face in place.

Then there was the three days it took him to work out his act. He had to get Ricky's moves down and that wasn't as easy at it seemed. Fortunately DeeJei was there to help him polish his act until it was ready to show to Miss Vixson.

Of course she approved the whole thing and immediately told him that he was going to make her a truckload of money.

   He slid into the third part of his act and slid out of his shirt, tossing it to the crowd of furry femmes. It was easy to understand why Miss Vixson was so excited when he saw them fight over that piece of clothing. It might as well have belonged to the real Ricky. His butterflies were soon replaced by a feeling of exhilaration. He hadn't been sure how he would feel when he would actually be dancing up there but the truth was stranger than anything he could have imagined.

He was actually enjoying this.

Like it or not the stage... any stage was his home and performance of any kind was what he wanted and needed to do. It was what he lived for.

   The end of his routine neared and his shoes and pants joined his shirt in the crowd to be torn apart and taken home by the near-ravenous ladies. He danced and lip-synched his way through the final movement of the song in a pair of black satin boxer shorts. At the final note he struck Ricky's signature end pose and the lights went out allowing him the time to duck back through the curtains and among the crowd of other dancers who had seen the whole thing from backstage.

The ladies were chanting "RICK-Y! RICK-Y!" and after wiping the sweat from his brow, Furrball grinned up at his co-workers, and in particular, Winston.

"So, just WHO were you calling a 'rookie'?"

Winston just smiled and handed him a fresh towel.

"I don't see a rookie anywhere, do you?"

    To Be Continued...

Back - Next