At first, it’s surprising. The lift door opens on each floor before you get to the lounge of the big hotel in Tacoma. And with each new arrival, you wonder if you’re really awake. The first one looks like an ordinary American in beige shorts, a baseball cap screwed on his head. But when he turns around, a big brown furry tail hangs from the back. And as the doors open and close, the nightmare only gets worse. Blue foxes with white bellies surround us, walkie-talkies in their front paws, followed by a giant lizard in a GI suit. And then a horse in Victorian dress. And an ugly squirrel wagging its whiskers. Its tail rises to the ceiling of the cabin and sizzles under the halogens. The atmosphere quickly becomes unbreathable.
There’s no point in trying to strike up a conversation. It’s the number one rule of furries: animals don’t talk, even if these ones are a bit special.