A Crittermess Carol

A Crittermess Carol

One

Finnick's Ghost

Finnick was dead; that fact can't be avoided. I despise morbid stories as much as anyone, but the truth is the truth, no bones about it. (Well, except for Finnick's, because...you know.) Otherwise, you simply wouldn't appreciate the tale I'm about to tell.

Wilde and he—Finnick, that is—had been partners at the firm. 'Wilde and Finn', they'd called it. Some folks new to the business called Wilde by the fennec's name, but he didn't give a fig, so long as he got his money. Besides, the mistake was an easy one to make. Both were foxes, for one thing. For another, both were cruel, hard and ruthless creatures. Then, there was the matter of Wilde's first name: it was Nicholas, but He much preferred to be called Nick. Yet this preference didn't matter in the least, as the brusque red fox wasn't one for social graces.

When our tale begins, Wilde sat in his counting house; 'twas Christmas Eve. Given his miserly manner, the whole place was in a sad state of disrepair. The bitter cold crept into every nook, crevice, and cranny. This didn't bother Wilde a bit; though only thirty-two, he was a crusty crook. It was, however, an unfortunate lot for his clerk—Herb H. Horse was the fellow's name—who labored in the dank little room beyond.

In contrast to Wilde, Mr. Horse—Herb to his many friends--was a most estimable mammal. He was a truly diligent scrivener who worked with a mind to efficiency. Such attention to detail had come in handy last year, when one of the other scribes, a lemming, had reached the end of his rope. The creature had quit rather suddenly. While this may seem a matter of little consequence, save for Herb, every other notary was a lemming as well—when one quit, they all did. This left poor Herb all by his lonesome, trying in vain to warm his hooves so that his pen-mammal-ship (and himself) didn't suffer.

“A merry Crittermess, uncle! Good tidin's to ya!” This pleasant, folksy voice belonged to Wilde's nephew Gideon. Though considerably more portly than his uncle, Gideon was a handsome tod who glowed with health, and whose eyes sparkled with good humor.

“Bah!” said Wilde. “Humbug!”

“Crittermess a humbug?! I reckon you don't really mean that, do ya, Uncle Wilde?!”

“Think again, bud. Last I checked, you have, approximately--”here, he paused, as though to figure a sum on the tips of his claws-- “Zero right to be festive, and even less reason; You're as poor as they get!” Undaunted, Gideon grinned.

“Aw, durn it, Uncle Wilde! What right've you got to be so ornery-like? What reason've you got to be such an ol' stick-in-the-mud? You've got plenty a money.” For once Wilde wasn't prepared with a suitable reply, so he merely said “Bah!” once more, followed shortly by “Humbug!”

“Don't get yer tail in a knot, uncle!”

“What else do you want me to do,” returned Wilde, “when everywhere I go, it's the same confounded thing! 'Merry Crittermess' this, 'Merry Crittermess' that, blah, blah, blah! It's nothing but a waste of time!”

“Uncle Wilde!” implored Gideon, his voice plaintive.

“Nephew!” Wilde all but shouted, “You do Crittermess your way, and I'll do it mine. Capiche?” For a moment, Gideon looked defeated.

“Well, goldurned it, if you say so, Uncle Wilde. But looky here: When I was a kit, I was a heap 'o' trouble. I never did nothin' nice for nobody. But I done learned better—not just fer Crittermess, but fer the rest a the year, too. So I'll say it anyways—Merry Crittermess to ya!” Without another word to his Uncle, Gideon turned on his heel and left-- and as he did, he offered a warm greeting to the clerk:“Merry Crittermess, Mr. Horse!”

“Merry Crittermess, Master Gid!” So replied the equine with a smile.

No sooner had Gideon taken his leave than a pair of waifs appeared on Wilde's doorstep. They were pleasant, impish little things of indeterminate species. The smaller of the two, peering cautiously from a pouch behind her sister's large ear, spoke first. “If you please, Mr. Wilde, we're collecting for the orphanage.” At Wilde's portending grimace, the little creature shrank away, whereupon her sister took up the cause.

“We would really appreciate it, Mr. Wilde. A little bit goes a long way.”

“Quit trying to hustle me, punks. Now scram!” With that, he shut the door in their startled faces. “That better be the last of 'em,” the fox muttered, striding back to his desk.

But Wilde's wish was not to be. In another hour's time, there came from beyond the door a lovely voice lifted in song. As the strains of “Good King Ocelot” met his ears, Wilde shuddered. He rose, marching to the door to face the unwanted nuisance.

On Wilde's doorstep was a small gray rabbit. The moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she wasn't an ordinary rabbit...not at all. She was the singular most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He was seized with a rare and primal ardor: She had a slender, well-proportioned frame, long, elegant ears, and a petite puff of a tail. But her most arresting feature was her eyes. Their wide open violet depths were a deep and dazzling lavender. He hadn't been so taken with a member of the fairer sex since...a very long time ago.

Believing he was losing his mind, he brushed the vile thought away, glaring at her. Still, his errant ears caught a snatch of her speech “...Judy Hopps... ZPD is holding its Community Crittermess Ball tomorrow night.” Of all the luck…! This vision of a bunny was blubbering away about 'good cheer' or some such nonsense. She was no different than all the rest! Without another word, he slammed the door in her face and stalked back to his desk.

This particular commotion had broken even Herb's steadfast concentration, and he had been watching the exchange—or lack thereof—unfold with mounting curiosity. At Wilde's abrupt dismissal of the bunny, he had winced. However, once the fox was out of sight, the horse took it upon himself to retrieve a letter which the brazen bunny had slipped under the door, and place it where it was sure to be in the tod's line of sight when he left come evening.

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. Wilde begrudgingly spoke the fact to his clerk, who promptly set about tidying his desk. Wilde watched warily, scrutinizing his underling's every move. “You plan on playing hooky tomorrow?”

“It's Christmas Day, sir,” said the honorable horse with a small smile.

“Suit yourself,” sighed the irascible fox. “But be here bright and early the next morning!” Though delivered with Wilde's usual dry wit, this was clearly a command.

“Yes, sir!” Herb assured him, agreeable as always. Spying the letter that his clerk had carefully deposited on a nearby shelf, the tod crumbled it up, stuffed it in his pocket, and slunk out with a growl.

Some time later, Wilde emerged from the driving snow to reach his solitary front stoop. Intent on entering his quarters, Wilde was startled to observe the otherwise ordinary doorknocker shift into what was the unmistakable shape of Finnick's face. Hurried but cautious, he reached out to pull on the brass.

“Yo, Nick, watch the nose, will ya?!” The frightened red fox yanked open the door, shutting it tight behind him, and made haste up the stairs to his room.

Once there, and upon realizing everything within was precisely as he'd left it, Wilde calmed considerably. Indeed, once he'd set a fire to roaring in the hearth, slipped into his robe, and settled in his chair with a warm plate of crimini mushrooms and dressing, he'd all but forgotten his earlier dread. Furthermore, as he absently read the mysterious letter in his pocket, he found himself immoderately pleased with its contents.

All was still. Looking about his chambers, Wilde's gaze happened to rest upon an old, forsaken bell which hung, long-forgotten, on the wall. Then, in a moment of sheer terror, he suddenly perceived it swinging—so slowly at first that he might have dreamt it—but soon it sounded with a veritable clamor that pealed resounding echoes through the house. The din stopped just as the fire dimmed, leaving only embers.

In the next instant, there began a strange noise—clonk, clank, clunk—that it seemed was beyond the tightly latched door. Wilde's head whirled--eyes darting, ears twitching--though try as he might, he couldn't ascertain the source. “That's it; I've officially lost my mind!” spoke the ever-witty fox to himself, even as he fairly shook with fear. A sudden, shrill laugh resonated 'round the room.

“You ain't lost nothin' but me, ya cranky ol' canid.” As Wilde glanced about in abject horror, the voice came again. “Down here, Nick.” Only then did he discover who the voice belonged to.

“What do you want?!” Wilde demanded.

“I ain't got no time fo yo gripes, pal. I'm doin' ya a favor.”

“Who are you?” Wilde continued, heedless of his visitor's words.

“Don't play dumb wit me. You sure as heck know the answer to dat one,” replied the phantom indignantly. This was true.

“O-kay,” said Wilde, emboldened by this peculiar exchange. “What brings you here, Finnick?” he answered coldly. “Don't even think about hustling me.” The fennec laughed again.

“Now you talkin'. But in case you haven't noticed, my hustlin' days are ovah. I been done for a long time.” So saying, the small fox helped himself to the chair opposite Wilde; it wasn't his way to ask first. As the specter stretched his arms behind his head in a gesture of leisure, his erstwhile companion could make out several chains that sprawled over the seat along with him. Having caught him staring, Finnick demanded, “Whatchu lookin' at?!” Wilde cleared his throat in an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment, gesturing in the direction of the chains.

“Your, ah, baggage.” This drew another cackle from Finnick.

“Dat's a good one, Wilde. 'Member how we was bachelors, livin' it up? This here is even tougher than bein' hitched! I mean: then, at least she ain't actually attached to ya!” After another round of cackles, his expression sobered. “Dem shackles is why I came to tip ya off.”

“So,” Wilde said—dryly, as usual-- “this is real now.” Then, with rising annoyance, “I knew I shouldn't have overdone it on the criminis. You're probably just an undigested mushroom, or...There's more of gravy than of grave about you, pal!” The fennec, looking more than mildly insulted, burst out,

“You think I ain't nothin' but a 'shroom?! Dat's 'bout as rich as you is! Shut up and listen, Wilde!” This proved enough to quiet the red fox as Finnick went on with his tale.

“See dis?” With some effort, he lifted a section of chain, shaking it for emphasis. “I'm stuck with these blasted things because of all the lousy stuff I did in my life.” Seeing Wilde's stupefied expression, he added, “You heard me right. What I did—what we did—was low-down, dirty, nasty stuff. We're scum, Wilde. And if you don't clean up your act? You'll be joinin' me like”--the fox snapped his claws together-- “that. So don't say I didn't warn ya.” Wilde suddenly felt strangely sentimental towards his unwanted guest.

“You always were good to me, Finn...Thanks for that.” The fennec gave a rare smile, and then, “Don't go thankin' me yet, Nick. You're gonna get more company tonight--three spooks. If ya know what's good for you, pay attention to 'em, pal. For your sake, I hope you've seen the last of me. Ciao.” Without another word, the ghost of Finnick vanished. The sight he'd beheld took a toll on the wretched Wilde, who stumbled into bed, and was asleep upon the instant.

Two

The Ghost of Crittermess Past

Some hours later, Wilde awoke with a start. He'd heard a noise—a scuffling, or scratching, perhaps—and, in his awful state, worried about what it could possibly be. He sat silently for a moment or two, and, hearing nothing more, nearly laughed at the absurdity of his behavior. It was then that a paw—an ethereal, glowing paw—reached in and drew aside the curtains of his bed.

She was white to the point of luminescence—an arctic fox, he was certain—with blazing blue eyes. She wore a long, flowing robe that matched her fur, and a serene smile. Timid, Wilde met her gaze. “Did Finn send you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and gentle—almost wispy, so as to seem far away. “I am the Ghost of Crittermess Past. But you may call me Skye.” She put out her elegant arm as she spoke; her smile turned demure. “Hold on tight.” No sooner had he heeded her request than they were gliding out the window, over the Zootopian countryside. Having found his balance, Wilde was free to look about in wonder.

“I remember this place! I went to school here!” He was suddenly cautious of a thousand smells, each one connected with a thousand thoughts...and hopes...and joys...and cares, long, long forgotten!

“Your lip is trembling.” So Skye spoke. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

“It's just a z-zit,” muttered Wilde amidst a sea of feeling.

Winding their way through the idyllic village, which Wilde observed with fervor, his countenance dimmed slightly when Skye told him, “These are but shadows of the things that have been. They have no consciousness of us.”

In no more than a twinkling, the two were in the old schoolhouse, the very one that Wilde had so fondly recollected. There, across the room, sat a young tod in utter solitude, his nose stuck in a book. “That's me!” Wilde exclaimed heartily. Then, with quiet reflection, “After the Junior Ranger Scouts dumped me, I made up my mind to read up on finance. I never wanted to feel powerless again, and money is power.”

By Skye's estimation, Wilde had earned his leave with those words, so she took them next to a quaint little flower shop in the middle of town. Wilde marveled at the sight, peering eagerly through the window. “It's Otterton's! He was my boss. And”--here, Wilde gasped-- “there's the mammal himself!” Indeed, a brown-furred otter, dressed modestly in a green sweater-vest and gray corduroys, bustled about, arranging the flowers just so and smiling as he admired his work.

The whole shop, in fact, was quite a sight. As Otterton looked round once more, hurrying away to collect what were clearly his prized poinsettias, Wilde noted gleefully, “He's getting ready for the Crittermess shindig!” Sure enough, little by little, all their old comrades joined the festivities.

Chief among these was beautiful Darla, the vivacious vixen who had once caught Wilde's fancy. With longing in his heart, Wilde watched as he himself spun her gaily around the floor for dance after dance. Seeking calm now, Wilde scanned the crowd for Otterton, who he found in a tender waltz with his wife.

“A small matter,” said Skye, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Small?!” scoffed Wilde. “In those days, he had the power to make us happy or unhappy, to make our lives a breeze or a nightmare, a romp or a chore. One word, one glance, and he could make my day. I can't tell you how many times he did exactly that. It's impossible to just—count 'em up—you know?” Skye did, of course, but it was more important that Wilde saw it fit to tell her so. He'd seen enough of this, she reasoned; they must move on.

In a moment's time, Wilde found himself back in the counting-house. At the desk, his own face was obscured by an ungainly pile of shiny gold coins. Darla sat in a chair opposite, weeping. “You don't love me anymore, Nick! I'm not sure you ever did! I had hope that you might fall for me as much as I have for you, but ever since you opened this place, you haven't been the same!”

“I agreed to marry you, didn't I?” The vision of Wilde, engrossed in his treasure, spoke these words without looking up.

The true Wilde, watching this memory play out before him, was struck by a sudden and profound realization. He had never loved Darla. Had he admired her? Yes. Had he desired her? Yes. So, too, had he treasured her company. Still--she had been his intended, yet he'd only given thought to status: how he'd look with such a pretty creature on his arm, and how such a picture might bring him more gain. This he knew, without a doubt. He had, in short, been but infatuated with her, only to cast her aside when she began to talk of marriage. Instead, he'd sought a more agreeable companion—money, that which talks yet says nothing at all.

Wracked with guilt and shame, his eyes remained fixed upon Darla as she stood to leave. “I still love you, Nick; I love the tod I knew. Good luck.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off. Wilde sighed deeply.

“Darling Darla, such a sweetheart! She didn't deserve to be treated like dirt!” His words were laced with profound emotion: sadness for her, anger at himself. Nearly overcome with grief, he was silent for a long while. At length, he spoke again. “Alright, Skye, you win! Get me out of here! I can't take it anymore!”

“Very well.” So spoke Skye, and soon Wilde found himself in his bed once more.

Three

The Ghost of Crittermess Present

Waking in the middle of a prodigious, jarring snore, Wilde's fur stood on end. Instinctively, he felt that he had roused himself in the right nick of time (pun intended), so that he may await the next messenger. Gentlemammals of the free-and-easy sort were those prepared to “Try Everything”; Wilde often fancied himself to be just that—at least on a good day—and was thus prepared for almost anything at all.

So when he spied a beam of light streaming from beneath his closet door—and knowing full well that he was not the cause of it—Wilde went forth to explore. In that once-lonely closet was a replica of his very room, filled with the most delectable dishes imaginable. As Wilde stood at the threshold in awe, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.

“There you are, Nick; come on in! OMG, get to know me!” Wilde entered timidly, for he was not the bold and blustering fox he once had been. The ghost's eyes were clear and kind. He was a sturdy, rather rotund cheetah—though to Wilde's wondering eyes, he appeared a giant.

“I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present; it's so nice to meet you! The name's Clawhauser, but you can call me Claw, or even Ben, Benny, or Benji. I answer to...DONUT!” At this, Wilde chuckled in spite of himself, noting that the pleasantly plump cheetah had found a clearly coveted pastry hidden amongst the many offerings. “Pardon me,” said the cat, straightening stoically and smoothing out his ample robe, “I'm sorta excitable.” With that, he shoved the donut in his mouth.

“You eat?” Wilde observed, curious.

“Welw,” Clawhauser began, his mouth full, “mosth ofh this ish metaphorical food.” Swallowing, he clapped his paws. “The Food of Generousity. See?” He waved a paw to encompass the bounty—pies, puddings, fruit and punch. And, of course, as Clawhauser put it:

“But where I come from, we all got to pick an earthly joy to keep with us. You know,” he went on in earnest, “...like feeling snowflakes on your face, or enjoying the warmth of a fire on a cold winter's night?!” His eyes bright, he explained, “I chose eating. It's not quite Crittermess without a spread like this...Or cookies, fruitcake, peppermint bark...Oh! And don't forget...DONUT!” Having spotted another, he fairly pounced upon it. “So the short answer is”--he paused, savoring the sweet-- “Call me anything you want, except 'late for dinner'!” He laughed at his own foolishness.

“So, what are we waiting for? OMG, get to know me! And, um, hold on to your nightcap!” As Ben spoke, the room faded. Even the ghost himself shrunk—to proportions far more befitting of a feline--and they were suddenly standing in Zootopia proper. It was Crittermess morning; with all the joyful shouts and flurrying white, it seemed, thought Wilde--smiling to himself--like a veritable snow globe.

Ben, too, looked around in amazement, and in doing so seemed more like a little cub than a fully grown cheetah. It came as no surprise to Wilde when the cat broke their almost reverential silence with a sudden cheerful shout. “Hey, look! It's Darla and her hubby!” Following the feline's gaze, Wilde saw the familiar lovely vixen, walking side by side with a strapping tod, two cuddly kits in tow. They were the picture of marital joy, and Wilde found himself gladdened that she had found someone worthy of her.

No sooner had Wilde absorbed the sight than Ben found something new to exclaim at. “That's right! Gazelle's charity concert is today! Oooh, it's gonna be so fun!” He seemed to forget himself for a moment, until who but Gideon should cross into his sight. “Oh, yeah—I have a job to do! There goes Gid; let's follow him.” And follow him they did.

Gideon entered his modest abode, greeted his wife with a tender kiss, and bade welcome to the guests who had gathered in the parlor. He then offered 'round a basket of freshly roasted chestnuts from his favorite vendor on the corner. When everyone had had their fill, he announced, “Why don't we play one a them guessing games?” With this, all agreed. “Okay, I'll go first. Who do we know that's an ol' red just like me, but acts like a cat?” There were a few curious murmurs, some guesses, and then Mrs. Gray gave a shout.

“I know! It's Nicholas Wilde! He sure is a sourpuss!” This caused everyone to burst into laughter.

“Now, darlin',” chided Gideon, “I was only teasin'. You know I don't pick on folks no more. To be honest with ya, I feel kinda sorry for ol' Uncle Wilde. He's missin' out on a fine Crittermess Day, he is. He must be a right lonesome feller, on account of he won't spend it with nobody.”

Wilde turned doleful eyes upon Ben. “Gideon's right; You've made your point, Claw—now take me home,” he nearly wailed. To the fox's great surprise, the chubby cheetah enfolded him in a comforting embrace.

“It's okay, Nick.” Then, his eyes danced with mischief. “I think I have something that'll cheer you up…!” he sang.

They vanished in a flash, then reappeared in the lobby of the ZPD. Judy, the fetching bunny caroler who had caught Wilde's eye (and stolen his heart, he was certain)--stood on a ladder alongside an elephant as the two busied themselves with Crittermess decorations. “You know, Francine, it's too bad Bogo waited until the last minute to allow decorations, but”--she smiled, and Wilde felt his heart leap-- “better late than never, right? Thanks again for volunteering to help me.” Returning the smile, the cow replied,

“No problem, Judy. If it weren't for festive-minded mammals like you, we wouldn't get to have a Crittermess party! You really did us all a favor by standing up to Chief; You're amazing!” The bunny blushed prettily at the praise, whereupon Wilde felt himself swoon, agreeing heartily with the pleasant pachyderm. Although he didn't wish to tear his eyes away from Judy for one second, he found his mind drifting into fantasy: a home, a hearth, with kits abound, and that ravishing rabbit round with more to come.

“Ooooh, I knew it! You like Judy, don't you?!” This from Ben, whose sudden squeal startled Wilde out of his reverie. But he quickly recovered, beaming.

“No, Ben; I love her. Listen: I hate to chat and run, but I have to get home so I can tell her.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Thus chided the cheetah, wagging a claw at him. “You will; I'm rooting for you. But not yet. There's one more thing I have to show you,” he said sternly. Then, with a lightened tone, “You're gonna love this place! We'll be there in a jiff!” As he spoke the words, so they were.

They stood at the window of a humble cottage. This Wilde peered into, taking in the sight: A fire crackled in the hearth, just beside a cheery table set for six. An unseen voice called out sternly, “Belinda, Bernard! Peter! Please be in your seats before your father gets back!” Two bunnies—buck and doe, fraternal twins, Wilde reasoned—and a colt appeared, dressed in their festive best, All sat at the table, laughing amongst themselves. Next entered another rabbit—their mother, he presumed—carrying a platter of spaghetti and carrot sticks.

“That's barely enough food for one--let alone four—mammals!” cried Wilde indignantly.

“Well, pffft,” muttered Ben, half to himself, “Whose fault is that?” With a weary sigh that was very much unlike him, Ben went on, “Meet Samantha Lapin and her clan. Most of them, anyway. The rest are...Aha! Here they come!” Ben gestured a little ways down the street, to an unmistakable stallion pulling a sled on which rode a very merry snowshoe hare. Her fur was white, matching the ground on which the sled tread; nestled in the seat beside her was a tiny pine tree sapling, no bigger than a houseplant. The doe could be heard singing, in a reedy but impassioned voice:

Jingle bells, jingle bells,

Jingle all the way…

Oh, what fun it is to ride

In a one horse open sleigh!

With that, she laughed uproariously at her own joke. Herb just smiled and kept on going along his merry way. In time, the two arrived outside the cottage door; within, the others rushed to greet them. Peter presented the hare with a crutch the color of holly berries, and, rising from the sled, she hobbled her way to the table. She took her seat, and, even as she was panting for breath, manage to pipe up in a jolly tone, “Dear Sir Horse, please do get the tree, will you? We don't want the poor thing to freeze!” Herb did indeed fetch the tree, placing it at the center of the table. With a bow to the hare, he intoned,

“Always ready at your service, madam,” smiling as he spoke.

The others looked upon the tree with considerable interest, which seemed to bring the hare great pleasure. “Here it is, guys! How's it look?”

“It's perfect, Hannah!” Samantha replied.

“Thanks, Sam!” The hare beamed with pride. “I picked it out myself. It's little and scrawny like me, so I figured it could use a home for Crittermess, and might enjoy getting dressed up a bit.” Just as Samantha had, the others sang similar praises of the pine. Wilde, too, marveled at the sight.

“It's just a tree,” he mused in disbelief; still, Ben could tell by his smile that he knew better. “But she treats it like a pet,” he murmured, chucking to himself.

“Look at how much fun they're having!” the cheetah observed, relishing the moment as the family took turns placing pinecones, tinsel, and other small trinkets on the tree. This was a trying feat for the hare, whose right paw—the only one of any use to her--trembled so that she couldn't hold it steady. “The fir got sap on my fur!” mused Hannah, laughing. “It's okay...I'm pretty sappy anyway.” This lead to another round of giggles, which all joined in.

At length, Hannah announced, “There; I just knew it would look fantastic! Now, let's...” Hannah's voice trailed off, her nose twitched, and she pulled a pawkerchief out of her pocket. Covering her muzzle with it, she then produced a jarring, “Ah, ah, ah...CHOO!” The others offered soothing words that somehow sounded familiar to Wilde, but he was so engrossed in the hare's plight that he couldn't have said why.

“That was quite a mighty sneeze for such a small snowshoe. Is she okay?” Ben shrugged, looking glum.

“She gets by alright, but she'd be in a lot better shape if they had resources.” Surely it was Ben's own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with every mammal, that led him to leave all judgment out of his tone as he spoke these words and those that followed. “Lindy, Bernie and Pete are all L-Hs by blood—the family name's hyphenated, these guys are progressive—but Hannah was living out on the streets until a few years back. She was best friends with Molly and Megan, sweet little...bats…?!”

“The ones that came to see me!” Wilde interjected, and continued to listen intently.

“They'd go door-to-door together every year—Molly would pull her on that sled you saw—and then she started getting really sick, and Molly and Megan's paws were tied. They're kits; they couldn't take care of her by themselves. So one year, Herb and Sam took Hannah in. They might have adopted Molly and Megan, too, but they didn't have enough...” The cheetah rubbed his thumb and index claws together; it was a gesture Wilde knew well, this time leaving no doubt as to the cat's meaning...Money.

As their feast was about to begin, the L-Hs raised their glasses for a toast put forth by Herb. “Cheers to Mr. Wilde, the founder of the feast!” Samantha nearly choked on her drink in surprise.

“Wilde, the founder of the feast?! Yeah, right! I wish I had him here; I'd give him a piece of my mind…!”

“Sam,” Herb implored gently, “please, not now. It's Crittermess.”

“So? He's a hard-tailed tyrant, and nobody knows that better than you!” cried the rabbit indignantly. “Nobody!”

“Sam,” was his mild answer, “Crittermess Day.” Seeing her husband's reason, the rabbit agreed. “I'll drink to his health for your sake and the Day's, not for his. Long live Mr. Wilde, and may he have a Merry Crittermess and a happy new year!” So went the toast.

Though it pained Wilde to a dire degree, he kept his ears trained on his feline companion so that the latter might be encouraged to finish out the tale, and perhaps tell him of Hannah's fate. “It might seem crazy, but she's fiercely independent. She considers these guys friends, not family, but to her that's worth more. That's why she calls Ms. L. 'Sam', and why Herb's 'Sir Horse'. She's loyal to them all, but Herb's her favorite. She calls him her 'white knight', and”--here, Ben leaned in and said, in a most gleeful conspiratorial whisper--“I think she has a crush on him.” Then, Ben pulled back immediately; his next words came out in a rush. “Please don't tell her I said that. If she finds out anyone knows, she'll be hopping mad.” Clearly relieved to have that off his chest, Ben winked at the pun. “They call her 'Happy Hannah', because...Watch.” Ben pointed toward the window just in time for them to see Hannah sneeze yet again—just as forcefully as before—and then suddenly laugh herself silly.

“I startled myself,” she explained, smiling, and laughed until it seemed she could barely breathe, then endured a jarring fit of coughing. Afterward, though fatigued, she managed to start in on her meal, which she carefully savored. “Spaghetti and carrot sticks are my favorite!” she exclaimed between bites, not the slightest bit bothered that the food had gone cold during her spell.

“So...Will she stick around?” Wilde spoke the words wearily, aware that, thus far, Ben had steadfastly avoided that subject in particular.

“I only know what the present's like—mostly,” the cheetah admitted. “The here and now is a gift; that's why it's called the present! But...The long run…?” he sighed, “It's not looking good.”

Turning back to the window in despair, Wilde noted that Hannah had finished her meal, and was on the verge of another troublesome turn. Then, “Darn sneezles!” She muttered this nonsense with a whole-hearted guffaw.

Thereafter came another chorus of “Benji bless you,” and that's when Wilde knew.

“You're...a big deal around here, aren't you, Ben?” The cheetah shrugged modestly.

“I don't know why. The best advice I can give is, 'live in the moment as much as you can'.” Wilde smiled; though he didn't speak it aloud, he thought that grand advice indeed. Ben noticed this change in the fox's features and perceived his work complete; with that, he whisked them away from the window.

When Ben led him to a dark and dreary corner of the city, it took even the naturally nocturnal Wilde a moment to adjust his senses. “Where the heck are we, Ben?” Ill-at-ease, the otherwise open feline chose that moment to pussyfoot. “I'm leaving that up to the next one to show you,” he hedged.

“The next what? Spook?” Ben lightened a little.

“Of course, silly! What else did you think I meant?! But...”--just as suddenly, his face fell, and he wrung his paws, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I like you, Nick. And since I'm—kinda important around here, like you said—I'm gonna let you in on a secret. Watch out, 'cause the Ghost of Crittermesses Yet To Come--that's this one's full title, and it gets majorly flaunted”--here, Ben rolled his eyes-- “is even crankier than you are! I just say 'GCF' when nobody's paying attention. Anyway...Sometimes GCF forgets this is just a drill, but don't worry: do what you're told, and you won't get hurt. 'F' stands for 'future', by the way. Except right now, that whole thing stands for 'Gazelle's Craziest Fan', 'cause, there's no way I'm missing her concert. See ya, Nick. Good luck! Gotta go!” Before Wilde could protest, the fantastic feline faded, leaving the befuddled fox alone and prone, at the mercy of the night.

Four

The Ghost of Crittermesses Yet To Come

A moment passed. Then Wilde, lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn phantom, which advanced, like a mist upon the ground, towards him. The sight sent Wilde sinking to his knees with dread. It was shrouded in a black cape—or cloak, perhaps—that left nothing of it visible save one outstretched...hoof.

The figure might have been small in stature—yet one couldn't be certain, for its garment lent it a most imposing air. It was, in truth, impossible to say where the robe ended and the creature itself began. “Are you...The Ghost of Crittermesses Yet To Come?” His host spoke not, but pointed onward with its hoof. “You're here to show me the future?” Wilde pursued in a timorous tone. He then watched as the garment rustled slightly, as a nod. That was all the answer he received.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Wilde feared the silent shape so much that his hind paws trembled beneath him, and he found that he could scarcely stand as he prepared to follow it. Sensing his condition, it paused, giving him time to recover.

But Wilde was all the worse for this. It filled him with a vague, uncertain horror to know that, behind that dusky shroud, there was a pair of ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he—try as he might—could see nothing but a spectral hoof and one great heap of black.

“Just so you know,” began Wilde in a quavering tone, “I'm more afraid of you than any ghost I've seen. But because I hope to be a new tod, I'm playing by your rules; I appreciate you taking the time to show me the ropes. Is there anything you'd like to add?” It gave him no reply. The hoof was pointed straight before them. “Don't mind me,” the now-docile fox amended. “Carry on.”

Wilde soon observed that they were in a graveyard. He shuddered at the thought of what reason one might have to tarry so long in such a dismal place. They walked several paces before his host paused, pointing yonder. A trembling Wilde raised his eyes:

Herb and Samantha stood before a tiny tombstone, weeping silently as they embraced one another in comfort and woe. At length Herb knelt to gently place against the grave a weathered crutch the color of holly berries.

Wilde scarcely had a moment to grieve as his host led him forward, to the final resting place of another. This gravesite was poorly tended, and in fact seemed to have been recently robbed; it was empty and exposed to the elements. Cautiously, Wilde bent to peer at the inscription. “Whose lonely grave is this?”

In one ghastly instant, the hooded figure spoke: “It's all yours, Nicholas Wilde!” So saying, the nimble hoof thrust Wilde into the gaping hole, and down he tumbled, his pitiful pleas for mercy echoing all the while.

Five

The End of It

It should be said that such a phrase is meant for the tale, not Wilde. No, for he awoke from a fitful sleep in what but his own bed, in his own room. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!

“I'll live in the past, the present, and the future!” So Wilde repeated as he scrambled out of bed. He suddenly slowed and smiled, thinking of Ben. “But mostly in the moment, 'cause that's what counts.”

“Get a move on, Wilde, you've got a lot to do!” He spoke these words aloud to himself; he was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Ghost of Crittermess Future, and the fur upon his face was wet and matted with tears.

Another thought came to him, and he whooped with joy. “I made it, Finn! I have another chance, and hope that everyone I've hustled can find it in their hearts to be forgiving of my glaring faults. They will be. I know they will!” Wilde, too, knew he would do everything in his power to make it so.

“I have no idea what I'm doing!” Wilde exclaimed, laughing and crying in the same breath. “I'm light as a feather, I'm as happy as a lark, I'm as foolish as a schooltod. I'm as giddy as a drunkard. A merry Crittermess to everyone! A happy new year to all the world! Woo-hoo!” He laughed. Really, for a fox who had been so out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The first in a long, long line of brilliant laughs!

“I have no clue what day of the month it is!” He had rushed into the sitting room, and was now standing there, perfectly winded. “Or even how long I was a guest of those ghosts! I know nothing. I'm quite the kit. So what? Don't care. I'd rather be a kit anyway. Whoo-hoo!” He reveled in the bells ringing out with the purest peals he had ever heard. Bing, bong, ding, dong! Bing, bong, ding, dong! Music to his ears!

Slipping on his coat, he reached into the pocket, folding his claws around the letter he had read what felt like eons ago. It was the invitation to the ZPD Community Crittermess Ball, listing the RSVP as one Officer Judy Hopps. Clutching it to his chest, he fervently hoped she would cross his path again. He was more than ready to repent, but given the way his heart raced at the mere thought of her, he hardly believed he could face her of his own volition.

Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No fog, no mist. Clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold. Cold, piping for the blood to dance to...Golden sunlight, a beautiful sky, sweet fresh air, merry bells. He relished it all.

Turning to take in the sights below, his eyes fell upon something far more radiant. A delicate gray rabbit—the one he had seen in his dreams, one he would know anywhere. “Judy!” She looked up, though dazzling violet eyes meeting his. “What day is it?” She smiled slowly, appearing pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, if a bit puzzled.

“Well, Mr. Wilde, it's Crittermess Day!”

“It's Crittermess Day!” Wilde said to himself. “I haven't missed it! My ghostly gallivanting only lasted one night! Of course it did. They can do whatever the heck they want! Of course they can!”

He called down to Judy. “Hello, milady!”

“Good morning!” greeted the bunny.

“Do you know the grocer's, down the block, around the corner?”

“I sure do!” replied the doe.

“Sly bunny,” said Wilde. “Clever, too. Do you know if they've sold that primo tofurkey that was hanging up there? Not the dinky little one, but the ol' whopper?” Judy laughed, her smile coy.

“You mean the one as big as me?”

“Right you are. That's the one, my dear doe!”

“It's still there,” she replied.

“Is that so?” answered Wilde. “Go get it, will ya?”

“Excuse me? Aren't you forgetting something?” came Judy's quick retort, saucy in equal measure. In return, Wilde gave her the most splendid of his smiles.

“I'd forget my head if it weren't attached to my neck, that's for sure! Please go and buy it, and bring it on over; I'll take it from there. And, ah, you'll need this.” Wilde was off like a shot; back at the window but a moment later, he called, “Judy! Heads up!” and tossed to her a sack full to bursting with gold coins. He was astonished to see her snatch it from midair.

“Nice catch!”

“Thanks!” She smiled demurely. “Catch you later?” she asked.

“You bet!”

With Judy out of sight, Wilde whispered, “I'll send it to Herb's place! They'll never know whodunnit!” He rubbed his paws together in glee, chuckling to himself. “It's twice the size of Happy Hannah! The world will never see a greater hustle!”

He hurried to wash, and to dress in his best, laughing to himself all the while as he pondered his plan. It was a glorious one, indeed. Yet as he recalled the events of the evening past, he realized this: what joy is there in Crittermess if not to keep it with one's fellow mammals?

At length, Judy returned, the tofurkey in tow. He knew it must be Judy for the way his heart rejoiced as she neared, but nothing could be seen of her over the prodigious foodstuff, save for her dainty black-tipped ears. Eagerly awaiting her approach, he greeted her warmly at the door.

“Thanks, Judy. Want some help with that?” Smiling, she graciously accepted his assistance. “Got a minute?”

“Plenty. I'm free until the ZPD party tonight. I spent last night with my family in Bunnyburrow, but today I have no real plans—just mingling with friends.” Even under the strain of the unwieldy tofurkey, Wilde's ears perked up at this pronouncement.

“You don't say? In that case, I have a proposition for you.” Wilde could tell by her expression that his turn of phrase had piqued Judy's interest, but she remained cautious. That was nothing short of apprehensible, as she was no doubt mindful of the melee she'd found herself in mere hours earlier—which, to Wilde, seemed a lifetime ago. The best course of action, then, was to speak his mind. So, he wasted not a minute, and did just that.

“But first, I want to say...I'm sorry, Judy. I was out of line yesterday. I could say I had a bad day, but the truth is, most of my life has been a never-ending series of bad days; I have no one to blame for that except myself. I went home yesterday and did some serious soul-searching”--that charming bunny had no idea how true Wilde's statement actually was, for he'd truly been mining his existence for meaning with the help of souls-- “and realized I have no business living that way.” He paused, chuckled humorlessly at his own pun. “Well, I do have a business, but that's all. It was the only thing that mattered, but now I know...I had no life. Not one that was worth living, anyway. The bottom line is this: I'm done being a jerk; I want to start my life over, and, if you'll forgive me, I'd like you to be part of it.”

Not since her own speech at that year's ZPD Academy graduation—which was quite good, if she did say so herself—had Judy heard such an inspiring entreaty. That alone surely gave the dear doe quite a shock, but it was really a trifle compared to what Wilde said next. “Remember all those bad days I mentioned? If, on any one of them, someone came up to me and asked if I believe in love at first sight, I would've said no. But...”--he grinned, full of good humor-- “Go ahead, ask me.” A startled Judy nodded and found herself happily inquiring,

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr. Wilde?” The fox laughed heartily.

“Call me Nick, because...I love you, Judy. I took one look in your eyes, and that was it. I didn't know what to do with myself; I was a coward, so I slammed the door in your face.” Recalling his ridiculous folly, he laughed some more. “I'm really rusty at this whole dating thing.”

The diminutive rabbit was stunned into silence, but Nick could see in her eyes—the way they sparkled and shone like so many stars in the sky—that she felt the same. Then, when she deemed it time to speak at last,

“Of course I forgive you, Nick. How could I not when I've been thinking of you since yesterday? I love hosting the ZPD Ball, but when I was decorating the lobby yesterday, I could barely concentrate. I didn't dare tell anyone this—especially not my boss, 'cause he's a real pawful—but I wanted to know what hurt you, and how I could take it away.” Our frazzled fox was deeply touched by this declaration. With his witty ways, he could hardly see how any headmammal could be any worse than he'd once been. So, too, he knew now that no one—not even sweet Judy—could have helped him a moment before he'd made up his own mind. But now that he was willing…

“You know, what? There is something you can do. Keep being yourself—laughing that laugh, smiling that smile, and maybe singing a song or two...You're good. Anyway, my point is, we'll take it slow. I'd like to be your friend, if you'll have me, and then maybe...See where it goes? I know just how to get the ball rolling...and that is, by asking you if you would be my 'plus-one' at the ZPD Ball tonight.” Nick winked.; the bunny beamed.

“Yes, Nick—to all of it. I've never been a guest at the Ball before—only the organizer. I've always wanted to get dressed up and enjoy it, but nobody's ever asked me.” So great was Nick's joy that,

“Their loss,” was all he could manage. Judy was beside herself with glee.

“What I'm trying to say is: I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather go with than you.”

“You poor thing,” said the tod, not altogether in jest; after all, he had only just chosen to change his life for the better.

“No, Nick,” Judy soothed him. “I'm very lucky.” They walked in satisfied silence.

In another block or two, they suddenly came upon Molly and Megan, the two little urchins Nick had seen the day before. Upon spying him, Molly quickened her steps ahead, making certain to keep her sister out of view. Nick called out to them.

“Merry Crittermess, you two!” Hearing this, Molly's large, keen ears turned in the fox's direction, and she slowed her pace. “Wait up! I have a little something for you!” Molly stopped, and met his eyes. “Will this cover all the years I've missed?” He held up a sack which sagged under the weight of gold. The youngster let out a shrill and joyous shriek, rushing to meet her benefactor.

“Thanks, Mr. Wilde!” Slipping the funds in a pouch of her own, she could scarcely keep her balance due to the bounty. Megan, too, peered out of yet another, calling a cheery, “Thank you!” as they raced away.

Judy took in the sight, sheer pleasure playing across her features, but remained silent; her mind, it seemed, was far away. At length, she spoke again, somewhat in distress.

“Oh, cheese and crackers! Evening wear isn't really my thing; I don't have a dress nice enough for the ball!” The oft-composed bunny hung her head in shame. Nick only laughed and shook his head, affection shining from his features.

“Your guy is the richest mammal in Zootopia, and you're worried about a dress?” Judy was suddenly shy.

“Well, we only just...I didn't want to impose.”

“Impose!” echoed Nick. “Judy, sweetheart, you make my life worthwhile. What's mine is yours. The money, I mean. I don't have any dresses for you to borrow...” Laughing at their own absurdity, they went on.

Meandering side-by-side, they by turns admired one another and a city on the verge of celebration. Passing a little clothing shop, Judy cried out in delight. “There it is, in the window! My favorite dress! I've never been able to save up enough to buy it!” Nick needed no further encouragement. The shopkeeper, just departing for home, laid eyes upon them, called a festive greeting, and might have otherwise waved them off if Nick hadn't implored him to accept one last purchase. Nick pulled a pouch of gold from his pocket, pointed to the dress, and happily told the clerk to keep the change. In that moment, Judy was enchanted with her new gown—and so too with the tod who had gifted it to her.

She rushed home, promising to return in her splendid new outfit. As she stood in her dwelling, twirling in the lush black velvet and smooth violet silk, she resolved to follow Nick wherever he went on this most auspicious day, and for all her days afterward, whatever they might bring.

For the moment, returning to her beloved, both smiled to see to Gideon while on their way along the street; Nick was sure to give his nephew a sprightly wave and a heartfelt greeting. At long last, fox and rabbit reached the house of Herb H. Horse and his kin. With a mischievous grin, Nick bade Judy be silent—and passing her the tofurkey to look after—while avowing she must stand away from the line of sight as he knocked stiffly upon the door, schooling his features into a hard grimace.

Herb himself answered. His familiarly blithesome face was shadowed by concern at the sight.

“Mr. Wilde,” he managed, his tone polite, if a bit tremulous. “What may I…?”

“We have some unfinished business, Herb.” Nick said, his tone stern.

“But, sir,” replied the horse with alarm, “It's Crittermess! Surely this can wait until tomorrow?!” Nick shook his head.

“I won't allow it. In my book, there's no better day than Crittermess to...” He paused, his face lighting up with laughter. “...Give my best employee a raise, plus make him my partner.” Nick held out a paw so that the stunned Herb may shake it—which he did—thus sanctioning Nick's statement.

Not a minute thereafter, the fox was warmly welcomed inside, along with the bunny, who Nick proudly introduced as “my friend Judy”; Sam and the rest likely thought Nick's face was ruddy with cold as he spoke, but Herb—astute fellow that he was—espied the glow of love on the fox's face.

Judy was at first hesitant to doff her coat, thinking it rude to display her opulent dress at such a time. But Herb quickly becalmed the bunny. “You've earned it, Judy. I care more about a mammal's morality than what one wears. You've passed that test with flying colors. Now that I've reconciled with Mr. Wilde—I mean Nick—I believe you two will be very happy together.” Thus he spoke, his statement simple but sincere. He then added with a guileless smile, “And you look great, by the way.” Judy was relieved and heartened by his praise, and that of his entire family.

On that grandest of afternoons, the eight mammals sat 'round the Crittermess table, tofurkey roasting merrily on the fire. Amidst all the chatter, Nick stole a glance or two out the window, unable to believe that he had once been on the other side of it, powerless to share in this magical, heartfelt ritual. It was then he caught sight of something there, from the corner of his eye...He beheld Ben, jovial as ever, waving mirthfully. Nick noted, with some surprise, that only he could see the cheetah standing there; yet it mattered little, because, that day, he promised his friends that he would join them in their gatherings for as long as he should live.

Herb proved a wise harbinger, for Nick was better than his word; he has, you see, done it all and infinitely more. That night at the precinct, Judy was the belle of the ball, and her fellow officers received the reformed Nicholas Wilde with great joy. Amidst the festivities, Judy and Nick announced their decision to adopt Molly and Megan; the girls would share a loving home with the pair, and oft reunite with their crony the hare. This news was met with overwhelming praise.

To Happy Hannah, safe and sound, Nick has become another cherished friend. Indeed, he became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a mammal as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town or borough in the good old world. It is always said of him that he knows how to keep Crittermess well; may that be truly said of us, and all of us!

And so, as Happy Hannah observed on that fair afternoon—whilst perched on Nick's lap, surrounded by the shining faces of all her dearest friends:

“Benji bless Us, Every One!”