Taxidermist

Photo by Virginia_Mallon/iStock/Getty Images

My girlfriend is a taxidermist. She kills
animals or finds them on the street or in
the woods, stuffs them, mounts them,
talks to them—you know, the usual
taxidermy stuff. We  have a fox in our
bedroom. Arthur protects us while we
sleep, she says, gazing fondly at him
before she nods off peacefully. There's
a possum in the bathroom with crazy
eyes and a crooked grin; I have to turn
him slightly when I pee, otherwise I
can't go. Squirrels in the kitchen stare
at us with chubby cheeks as we chop
vegetables. A bear in the foyer
welcomes visitors, who call my
girlfriend "spunky" and "hilarious."
I wonder what you'd look like stuffed,
she says to me, running her hands over
my body. Your muscles are very nice
and you have such lovely features. I
would put you in the study. I think
you'd make a lovely addition to my
collection.