Australian Tales (part III)

By Richard Davidson

It was Angela DuBois, but Alphonz quickly realized that she was no woman, but a seagoing ocelot disguised as a woman, because she had lost her shoe. Alphonz furiously began typing in Sanscrit, using the miniature keyboard he had surgically implanted in his wrist. He was awaiting a message from his lobster, but none came. Alphonz loved that lobster like a brother. He had always been a good and faithful companion to Alphonz; so much so, that Alphonz had once considered naming him. And now he could be lost, or injured, or worse, and Alphonz was running frantically up and down the deckway, as he often did when panic set in.

"Damn animal instincts," the more logical side of Alphonz's tiny brain echoed repeatedly, but that's all it could say, until he smashed his head into that railing. He sat belatedly on the iron deck, wishing he'd made an appointment. He shook his head a few times, and raced back to his suite, hoping for the best. Much to his suprise, there was a party going on in the hallway outside his room, and a large amount of the people there were actually animals in disguise. Some were so remarkable, Alphonz couldn't tell visually, his acute sense of smell picking out the imposters, but the giraffe wasn't fooling anybody.

As he pushed his way through the sniffling crowd, he realized the party was actually spilling into the hallway FROM his room, making him wonder if particle physics really is going to revolutionize childbirth, as he had read in Esquire last month. But the main thing on his mind was his lobster, who he couldn't see anywhere! He tried asking a Congressman, who was actually a very sick manatee, but all he got were sickly whistling sounds, and an occasional grunt. Luckily, Regis Philbin was there, and Alphonz decided he would concentrate all his efforts there.

He started with idle chatter about being better off without Kathie Lee, but Regis was sick of the topic, and started to wander away. Alphonz decided to be more direct, and asked, "have you seen my lobster?"

Regis stopped, and stared. He motioned Alphonz over towards the bar, and said very discreetly, "you've noticed the animals, then."

"Yes, I have." replied Alphonz, trying not to make any wombat noises.

"What do you think they want?" asked Regis, growing more and more concerned.

"Regis, can I trust you?" asked Alphonz, doing his best to ignore the yummy fly just in front of his face.

"If you can't trust me, who CAN you trust?" winked Regis, polishing off his wine without drooling, a feat Alphonz could never match.

"Regis, there's some very bad animals here tonight, and if we don't find my lobster, we may be in some very serious trouble." Alphonz started licking his fur, and then thought better of it.

Regis was very confused. He didn't see how the French Ambassador's lobster could do anybody any good, and he wondered where the French accent had gone. He was becoming suspicious, but that giraffe had really spooked him, and he decided to help look for the lobster.

"Be discreet, man, no whistling or clucking," Alphonz intoned with fairly decent rythmn. He heard a commotion further down the hall, and tried to ooze his way through the various quadrapeds that were disguised as merchant marines. They were drunk, and every time he said "excuse me," they just pushed closer together, making his head split like an orange.

The pain was riveting, and Alphonz was becoming sick and desperate all at the same time, as he came to realize the room was filling with sheep. They were evil sheep, alright, and everyone knows the evil sheep is the wombat's natural enemy. Alphonz's porcupine suit had the ability to throw poisonous quills, but the button was stuck again, and the evil sheep were surrounding him, keeping their eyes on those quills. Some badgers were pushing the sheep aside, making room for Angela DuBois, eccentric, rich, sea going ocelot.

"Mr French Ambassador," she trumpeted, in perfect 4/4, "are you prepared to die?"

Alphonz couldn't believe she actually bought his disguise, now that he had the porcupine suit on, but ocelots are not nearly as intelligent as people keep giving them credit for. Had Alphonz's lobster been there, he would have told you so with a sly wink. What could this strange simian have against the French Ambassador? Alphonz didn't know, but then he thought of Foie Gras.

Foie Gras is a French dish that makes most animals blood run cold. The French take these ducks, and they force feed them until they get sick, and their livers get all enlarged, which is quite unpleasant for the duck. Then, when the poor bird is so sick that he can't understand sign language, they kill him, and serve his liver in a fancy restaurant, where they charge $200, and give you really rude service. And hadn't Angela once been in love with a handsome duck from Bitburg? Alphonz was almost sure he had read something in the Marsupial Weekly about it.

Oh, this was bad allright, bad enough to cause several of the possums to go into hibernation, right on the dressing table. Alphonz was sure his time was up, and he began the strenous process of eating all the chocolate.

"Mr. Ambassador, you lousy scum, or whatever your name is, I'm here to fill the world with loneliness. Wait, that's not it, I'm here to kill you."

She seemed very satisfied for having maintained her train of thought. Alphonz almost choked on an almond.

Dean and Bob were two rare Arctic Timberwolves, dressed in Italian suits, and leather trenchcoats. They advanced on Alphonz, spitting angry pronouns with the dexterity of Muhammad Ali. It was a tough spot.

(to be continued)

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