Bath Day
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2025 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  marmelmm
Vixyy ©  vixyyfox
Prompt: “As your alter-ego, what special consideration/products/devices do you use to effectively take a bath?”



I glanced at the prompt again, and then at Vixyy as I walked over to the armchair she sat in. To tell the truth, she looked a little lost as the chair was not scaled appropriately. The little fennec femme giggled at the prohibition that she’d directed at me and I asked, “Were you deliberately waving a red flag in front of the bull?” I reached out and yanked her flying helmet down over her eyes.

Vixyy laughed and pushed the helmet back. “Oh, come on now, you know I had to say that, or you’d totally go there.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. You should know by now how I feel about expectations. However, since you gave me and everyone else – oh, and by the way, you know I don’t have an alter-ego per se? The Police Dog isn’t me.”

The vixen gave me a suspicious look. “So?”

I smiled and offered a hand to her to help her out of the chair. She took it, gained her feet, and followed me to a certain door. “So, I assembled a sort of round-table discussion.”

She grabbed her ears and pulled them forward to cover her eyes. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” and with that I opened the door, and I led her into the room. The door swung closed, leaving us facing a group of five people sitting around a table in a room tastefully furnished in Danish Modern. There were two extra chairs, with one sized to fit Vixyy. There were two sideboards against two of the walls holding trays for food and drink.

I helped Vixyy into her chair, pushed her flying helmet over her eyes again, and took my own seat while she fussed with her headgear. “Now,” I said, “the topic of discussion – “

“Fuck off, you stupid git,” the male German Shepherd with jet-black fur growled. The Black Dog crested at me. “Where do you get off calling me in to answer her question? Afraid to answer it yourself?” the personification of my depression asked. He sat back and sipped moodily from a glass mug of Pilsner.

“I’ll give her an answer, but she wants to hear things from a fur-bearing viewpoint,” I said. “Humans don’t have fur – “

“Bullshit. Yours is just disgustingly sparse apart from that rat’s nest on your head.”

I flipped him a middle finger salute. “So, you want to stop wasting the reader’s time and answer the fucking question? Or do I need to tell them that I send you to a groomer?”

“I’m not nine years old, you – “

“NOT THAT KIND OF GROOMER, ASSMUNCH!” I shouted, causing the others at the table to wince and dip their ears, Vixyy particularly. “I swear I’ll shave you, dip you in oil and throw you to the Inner Bastard.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, fleabag.” You can sort of tell we don’t get along, and of all the entities I encounter, only the Black Dog knows me well enough to truly insult me.

He glowered at me. It’s one of the few things he does well. “Fine. A big problem getting clean is managing to get down to my skin, so I don’t get a lot of dandruff and things like parasites.”

“Yeah,” one of the women at the table said, nodding. “I can see that.”

The Black Dog grunted at her and drained his mug of beer. He made as if to throw the mug at me, but put it on the table and said, “I need a few different things, depending on the season. A soap to loosen up my undercoat so it can get flushed out of my fur, and another to clean my skin.” He glanced at me. “And a third to clean my actual fur. I towel off then and get the fur dryer out.”

“That must take a while,” Vixyy said.

The Shepherd nodded. “Yeah. Especially around the delicate bits. After I dry off, I use a comb and two brushes.”

“Anything else?” I asked, starting to get bored with this idiot.

“Oh yeah,” and he bared his teeth at me. “I use neutral scents in my shampoo, so I can sneak up on you easily, you twat.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. “You’ve had your say, so shut the fuck up and let’s hear from the others after we all get something to drink.” The suggestion required no second and was passed by acclamation, and after a few minutes we all had beverages in front of us. “Well?”

Cindy piped up. “Since you have me sitting next to him,” and the bobcat jerked a thumb at the Black Dog, “I suppose I should go.”

“A feminine outlook would be nice,” Vixyy said.

“My fur’s shorter than yours,” Cindy said to the Shepherd, “and I wear it clipped short to show off my abs,” and she stood up and pulled up her t-shirt, acknowledging the whistles and applause from the readers at the muscle definition underlying by her fur. She pulled the shirt down and sat as she added, “I use a lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner to give me a nice glossy coat.” She winked. “Wallace likes the smell, too.”

“That’s interesting,” the other woman at the table said. “Brush, or comb?”

“Brush, of course,” Cindy replied. “It feels so good, especially in certain spots,” and she grinned as a few of the other women in the audience laughed knowingly.

“Any skin problems?” I asked.

The bobcat smiled. “No. I take care of myself. Regular baths, good diet, strenuous exercise, and – “ She made an O with the thumb and forefinger of her left paw and thrust her right forefinger into the circle several times to make the point.

Even I had to laugh at that. The Black Dog just glowered and got up to refill his beer.

“Anything to add, Cindy?” I asked. “I really want to give each of you a full page.”

“Eh, I’m done,” the bobcat said. “If you’d asked Wallace, he’d tell you about the shampoo he uses on his mane and tail. It’s really good.”

I glanced at Vixyy. “If this ever comes up again, I’ll have him in,” I said. “How about you, Prince?”

The Kashlanin kam gave me a look that involved showing his teeth and bringing his tailspur up. “I’ve talked to you about that,” Keshif said. “I’m too far down the succession to be comfortable with being called by my title.” The others looked concerned by the display, while the Black Dog looked interested.

Probably hoping I’d get beaten up.

“So - ?” I urged.

Keshif sat back. The ventilation’s angled so that the air blowing over him is directed away from the rest of us. As it was, the other female member of the group was looking a little askance at him, her nose wrinkling as she scooted her chair a few inches away. “I do like scented soaps for washing my pelt,” he said, “and I use this,” and he held up something like a combination comb and brush, “for grooming. My fur’s usually kept short, but I will grow it out just for a change.”

“Scented?” I asked, and I craned forward. “May I?”

“I don’t see why not,” and his tail snaked across the table to me.

Vixyy leaned forward, caught one whiff and recoiled, both paws over her nose and her ears flattening. The others looked equally distressed by the smell.

I sniffed, thought, and sniffed again. Sure, a shlan has a very unpleasant body odor to us thanks to their sulfur-rich biochemistry, but . . . “Hmm, aromatic, astringent, resinous?” I asked, sitting back.

Keshif smiled as his tail went back to his part of the table. “It’s a type of tree, like a ‘pine’ or ‘cedar,’ I think you call it.”

“Very nice. Does your mate like it?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Gchert, right?” I asked.

Keshif frowned. “Terrek. You forgot?” The others whispered among themselves, while Vixyy looked perplexed for a moment.

The Black Dog, of course, thought my gaffe was hilarious. I ignored him.

“Good. Edith?” I asked.

“Give me a minute,” and the mouse got up and walked over to one of the sideboards. She sneezed a few times and straightened her blouse and skirt before getting a glass of whisky and coming back to her seat. “Pardon me,” she said to Keshif.

“No offense,” the kam said equably. “You stink too.” Everyone else at the table chuckled while Edith frowned.

The mouse finally shrugged. “When Oscar’s boys got me out the crate I was shipped in, my fur and skin were a mess. For a while, the only thing I could use to clean up with was lye soap.” Most of the others around the table winced. “Yeah. Didn’t do my fur any favors, and finally Oscar started letting me use a decent fur soap.”

“What was it?” Vixyy asked.

Edith shook her head. “The label was in Japanese, and I had no idea what was in it. Smelled like flowers, though, and it did one hell of a lot better than lye soap, let me tell you.”

“How about now?” Cindy asked.

“I’ve rediscovered the delights of a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath,” the mouse replied, and the bobcat grinned. “Add a nice stiff brush to get deep into my fur down to my skin,” Edith added with a slightly dreamy smile, “followed by a really thorough rinse. Oh, and I found a perfect lotion for my tail,” and she raised the appendage to show it off, “and I get a hot oil rub and combing of my headfur every now and then.”

Cindy was listening interestedly. “Your headfur really looks nice.”

“Thanks. I look and feel a lot better than I did years ago.”

“We should talk later,” the bobcat said, and the mouse nodded.

Edith raised a paw. “I don’t like femmes.”

“I wasn’t going to ask if you wanted sex,” Cindy said, giving me the eye, “but boundaries are important.”

“That reminds me,” the Black Dog piped up. “Why did you invite him?” He pointed at the fifth member of the panel.

“He won’t be invited to any of my parties,” Cindy muttered.

“Could’ve been worse,” Edith said, thinking of Mad Mac.

“Comic relief,” I said. I nudged the guy. “Okay, R.S., you’re up.”

The fellow had been staring straight ahead; now he gave a sudden jump and looked around him wildly. He was a red squirrel, wearing a collarless longsleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, trousers, rubber boots, a striped sweater vest and suspenders. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and, oddly, a knotted handkerchief on his head.

“WHUT!?” he blurted.

While the others chuckled and Vixyy looked confused I drew his attention to me and I asked in a clear and well-enunciated voice, “What do you use to clean your fur?”

He sat and blinked at me for a few moments, gave another sudden jump and said, “I USE. A BODY WASH. CALLED. ‘HALITOSIS.’” He lowered his voice from Level One Public Nuisance. “It makes my breath smell sweet.” He then mumbled something I couldn’t catch and put his head on the table.

“Some comic relief,” the Black Dog sneered.

I eyed the prompt again before glancing at Vixyy and returning my attention to the others. “About how long does it take you to get a bath or shower?” After some consideration the panel responded that it took the guys about a half hour and the girls close to an hour (“Longer if I want a long soak,” Edith said).

The Black Dog suddenly asked, “Now, what about you, asshole?”

“Me?” I asked.

“I put the question to YOU now, Morton Kondracke,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at me. The others nodded. Vixyy looked interested but slightly wary, like she was debating getting ready to run before I’d even given my answer.

I nodded. “That’s fair. Leaving aside the Lovecraftian horror the readers may experience at the mental image of me naked,” and I paused as a shudder ran around the table and a few of the more imaginative readers began to scream. I allowed myself a sinister chuckle before I said, “A shower takes me about twenty minutes. I use an oil-based soap on my beard. It’s scented with sandalwood – “

“Which explains why termites lick their chops when you walk around the yard,” the Dog said. I kicked him under the table, and he kicked back. He missed; I didn’t.

“What about the rest of you?” Edith asked.

Keshif said, “You’re pretty much furless.”

I nodded. “I found a three-in-one formula. Shampoo, conditioner and body wash, all in the same bottle. I’ll use a washcloth, and after toweling off I’ll use a comb on my hair and beard.”

“Convenient,” Cindy said.

The Dog looked skeptical.

R.S. began to drool on the table.

“Like my beard soap,” I said, “it’s scented with sandalwood. I like the smell.”

“What’s it called?” Vixyy asked, her curiosity overcoming her good sense.

“Semprini,” I replied. “It’s – “

The door blew off its hinges and went flying as a six-man police SWEAT Team burst in. Before the smoke and splinters of the ballistic breach stopped flying, all of it missing the people at the table, the cops were well into the room. Two of the officers took station on either side of the doorway, covering the others as two more circled around the table and the last two dove over the table, tackling me out of my chair.

I was flipped over on my stomach, gagged, cuffed at wrists and ankles with zip ties, and half-dragged from the room. The Black Dog fell out of his chair laughing.

Vixyy and the others sat, stunned, for several moments before the fennec said, “He’s weird.”

The others all chorused, “Gee, ya think?”



end