There’s something incredibly soothing about napping with a skunk. Hobkin’s head is the perfect shape for burrowing. He likes to tuck his muzzle under my chin, and then snuggle it in, so that he’s as wedged as he can be, lodged between me and the pillow. If I should have the temerity to shift position or adjust my pillow, he cuddles closer immediately. And occasionally he gives little chin rubs with his face against mine. He’s got the thickest fur of any animal I’ve ever hugged, and he likes having his little ears rubbed, which are so soft, like velveteen.
‘Course, he’s prone to sticking his nose in my ear, and his breathing sounds like a windy cavern. And he also has a penchant for pressing icy paws against me in winter. But I find that endearing too, in a “dammit, Hobkin!” way. I can’t imagine how I ever got by without a skunky toy to sleep with.
54-day personalized reject from Sheila Williams at Asimov’s with invite to submit again. That’s the best reject I’ve received from them. But where to send this story next? Hmm.
Words: 1200 on the WIP, 300 on an outline/overview of a short story idea out of the blue.