Tom sat in front of the secretary, a cow-furry with piercing blue eyes and a smile that was a little too wide for comfort, her fur coat brushing against the edge of her desk. Her name tag read "Claire." She held a clipboard in one hand, a pen poised and ready to take down his information. The room was cold and sterile, with the faint scent of antiseptic in the air.

He couldn't believe he had hit rock bottom like this. But rent was due, and his job as a barista just wasn't cutting it anymore.

"So," Claire began, her voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through his bones, "you've come to donate sperm at The Milky Way?"

Tom nodded, his throat dry. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he glanced around the room, his eyes darting over the posters of happy, frolicking cow-furries.

"Yeah, I, uh... I need the money." He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

Claire's smile widened. "Excellent," she said, her tail swishing back and forth in an eerie rhythm. "We're always looking for new donors, especially human ones. Just sign here... and here."

Tom took the pen, his hand shaking slightly as he scribbled his name on the dotted line. The contract was lengthy, filled with clauses that might as well have been in another language, but he didn't dare ask for clarification. The thought of not making rent was far more terrifying than whatever he was getting himself into.

He handed the paperwork back, and she took it without a glance.

"Oh, just one question—you're not lactose intolerant, are you?"