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“Always Tomorrow” by Frances Pauli

Today’s story is “Always Tomorrow” by award-winning furry fiction author, Frances Pauli. This story first appeared in The Daily Grind published by Goal Publications. 

You can find out more about Frances's work at francespauli.com.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
Speaker:

You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

Speaker:

I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

Speaker:

and today’s story is

Speaker:

“Always Tomorrow” by award-winning furry fiction author,

Speaker:

Frances Pauli. This story first appeared in The Daily Grind published by Goal Publications.

Speaker:

You can find out more about Frances's work

Speaker:

at francespauli.com.

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“Always Tomorrow”

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by Frances Pauli

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On the day she was supposed to die,

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Tish wore a skirt covered in flowers.

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She combed her fur with meticulous claws,

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smoothing it where it needed to be smooth

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and fluffing it where it needed to be fluffy.

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Where the gray hairs had gone wiry and disobedient,

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the old bear only patted them with one paw and then

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let them be what they would.

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Her knees complained on the walk to the meadows

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and her steps stuttered to one side and then the other.

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She went slowly and patiently along the beaten path,

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her spine curling her shoulders tight beside her chin.

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Her tail twitched beneath her skirt,

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making the flowers on it dance with her every third step.

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The air grew fragrant as she went.

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The wildflowers only bloomed for a few weeks in spring,

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and it had been three long years since she'd felt the urge, or had the energy,

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to make the trek across town to see them.

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Today, she stopped at the meadow's edge

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and lifted her muzzle higher.

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Today, she inhaled the scent of flowers,

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listened to the song of bees,

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and prepared herself for death.

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When she stepped into the meadow,

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the thick greens cushioned her tired feet.

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The herbs crushed beneath her pads

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added a spice to the air,

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and Tish felt her muscles tingling.

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She hungrily inhaled air filled with the smell of fresh,

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growing things. She walked,

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one patient step after the other,

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to the center of the field, a high spot

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where the flowers splayed out to all sides:

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purple and white,

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pink and palest blue.

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The graying bear closed her eyes.

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She lifted one flat foot

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and stepped to the left and then the right.

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She hummed deep in her great chest,

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and she raised both arms,

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waving them through the warm spring air.

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Her body swayed less than it might have

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due to the crick in her spine,

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and her heart beat faster than it had since her Henry passed away.

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She danced amid the flowers,

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the dance of bees and spring and honey.

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Tish danced, and the scents of mint and clover filled her.

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It was not a long dance.

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Certainly, she tired faster than she used to.

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Her arms came down and her feet fumbled a bit on the final spin.

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As she finished, her knees gave out, and the big bear just let them,

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fluttering to the ground with her skirts awry.

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Her breaths were ragged and shallow.

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She gasped, remembered that she'd meant to die,

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and then lay back among the flowers and stared at the sky,

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waiting. “That was something else,”

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a brash voice interrupted her.

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The rustling of feet against the meadow drew her attention back to living.

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“I've never seen anything like it.”

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“Go away,” Tish growled, closing her eyes.

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The footsteps continued heedlessly for another four strides,

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after which she heard the distinct sound

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of someone settling in.

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“I don't mean to intrude.”

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It was a male voice, too harsh for the minty tingles still fluttering through her tired body.

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Tish opened her eyes and tried to sit.

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Her spine hurt and her muscles wobbled.

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In the end, she only rolled to the side

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and propped herself up on an elbow.

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A fox sat cross-legged in the grass.

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His ruddy pelt gleamed in the morning sun,

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peeking out from beneath a fine green jacket.

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His long muzzle pointed directly at her,

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and his eyes glinted like sharp stones.

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“Then don't,” Tish said.

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“I'm busy.” “But it was such a lovely dance,

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and I happened to be walking past and…

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What is it that you're busy doing exactly?”

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He squinted at her, sniffing the air between them.

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“I'm dying,” she said.

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“Nice day for it.” “Yes, it is.”

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Tish glared at him.

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For a moment, she thought it had worked.

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The fox nodded and reached for the green sack he'd dropped on the ground beside him.

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She willed him to retrieve it and go, but instead he stuck his black fingers into the canvas

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and pulled out a thermos.

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“If you don't mind,” she said.

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“Oh, no. You go right ahead.”

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The fox unscrewed his thermos top,

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overpowering the spicy meadow scents

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with a thick, nutty aroma.

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He upturned the cap

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and poured a measure of dark coffee.

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Velvety paws lifted the drink to his muzzle,

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but he paused just short of drinking it

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and eyed Tish with a sideways glance.

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“I wonder…” He left that hanging in the air

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and sipped the steaming brew.

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“You wonder what?” She heaved herself into a sitting position.

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“I don't want to pry,”

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the fox said. “But one does wonder what someone is dying of.” “Hmph.”

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Tish snorted and accidentally inhaled the heady coffee aroma.

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Her nose twitched.

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“Today is a fine day to die. Why not?”

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“I see.” He blinked at her

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and his coffee steamed accusingly.

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“It's time,” she said.

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“I've lived my life, raised my cubs,

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lost my mate. My fur is gray

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and my bones complain when I just get up in the morning.”

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“Oh yes,” the fox said.

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“Well, that explains it.

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Coffee?” “What?” “Would you like some?”

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He fished in his bag again and produced a wide-mouthed mug

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suitable for a bear-sized muzzle.

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Before she could answer, he'd already begun to pour coffee into it.

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“I suppose I have a few minutes.”

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Tish's nostrils expanded in her leathery nose.

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She'd only just shaken off her winter drowsiness,

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and the aroma of his brew had drowned out the meadow as much as his nattering had spoiled her post-dance trance.

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“Why not?” “Indeed.” He passed Tish the mug

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and returned to his sipping.

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She lifted the coffee to her muzzle,

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letting the thick aroma fill her head.

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Her nose twitched.

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Tish pressed the mug to her lips

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and drank. The hot coffee burned her tongue,

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but she didn’t mind.

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It had been a long time

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since she'd been awake enough to make a pot herself.

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She swallowed with a satisfied grunt

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and wiped her mouth with the back of one paw.

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“Good, isn't it?” The fox's grin spread nearly to his pointed ears.

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“Not particularly.”

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Tish held back her own smile,

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though she could feel it leaking into her eyes.

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“But adequate coffee, thank you.”

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“You've had better?”

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“Not recently.” She sighed

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and turned the mug in her paws.

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“Where did you get this?

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It's far too big for your pointy little—” “Where?”

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“What?” “Where did you have better coffee?”

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They stared at one another for a moment.

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The fox's eyes shone with the sunlight,

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reflecting the flowers around them.

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The day had moved on from dancing and bees.

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It had turned into an ordinary, conversational day.

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Tish sighed. “There's a little shop in Thornwood.”

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Two triangular ears perked forward.

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The fox's tail whisked against the grass and he looked,

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just for a second,

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like a cub awaiting his Solstice presents.

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“They brew a delightful coffee.”

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Tish grinned and leaned back on her paws.

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She'd first tried the Thornwood coffee on a date with Henry.

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So many seasons

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ago. “Let's go, then.”

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The fox popped to his feet and began repacking his bag as if it were settled.

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Tish handed him back the mug reluctantly.

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It was far too big for a fox's needs.

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“I can't go to Thornwood.”

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She shook her head until the flowers blurred.

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“Why not?” “I'm dying, for one thing.”

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“Ah. I almost forgot.”

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“Well, I didn't. Besides,

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Thornwood's a half-day's walk.

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I'd never make it with these ankles.”

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“So?” The fox shrugged his bag back over one shoulder

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and straightened his green jacket.

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“If the walk

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kills you, what's the problem?”

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Tish blinked at him.

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Her logic told her that dying of exhaustion was a great deal different than passing on quietly in a field of flowers.

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But there was a dare in the fox's eyes.

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A challenge in the merry swishing of his tail.

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The coffee in Thornwood

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had always been her favorite.

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Henry's, too. “Oh,

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why not?” She threw up her hands for the fox's benefit

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and then began the arduous process of climbing back to her feet.

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“My name is Ronald,”

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the fox said. “And I could use a walk.”

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“And a real cup of coffee,”

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Tish said, though she didn't imagine the little red fox needed any help with his energy levels.

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“I'm Tish. If I die before we get there, it's your fault.”

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The fox pointed his grin toward Thornwood

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and whisked his tail back and forth.

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“I think I can live with that.” #

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The sun had dipped below the tops of the fir trees by the time Tish tottered to the edge of town beside Ronald.

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The nerve at the base of her stout neck still pinched,

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but the walking had worked the knots out of her legs,

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and her knees had stopped popping a good hour into the trek.

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The fresh air had lightened her breath.

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All along the way,

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the scents of spring surrounded them.

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Crocuses and hyacinths dotted the fields around Thornwood,

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bright and cheery as the sun.

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But when she and Ronald crossed into the dirt streets,

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Tish felt her heaviness return.

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Little houses with lights in the windows,

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families sitting down to supper,

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and cubs romping in narrow yards

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—all of this was behind her now.

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“So.” Ronald marched beside her.

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He had matched her slower pace for the whole trip.

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He'd been quiet, too,

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and Tish felt certain that was not his normal state.

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“Where is this miraculous coffee to be had?”

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Perhaps they'd both been caught up in the sights along the way.

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Now, Tish remembered she had something to prove

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—and a date with her demise to follow.

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“It's just a block down on the right.”

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“Marvelous.” He clapped his velvet paws together.

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“And do they serve food as well?”

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“I don't believe so.”

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The fox drooped. His tail dragged in the dust

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and his ears fell to the sides.

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“My stomach is rubbing against my backbone,”

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he said. “Well, you're welcome to eat after we have the coffee.”

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Tish marched a little faster,

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but her belly betrayed her,

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grumbling loudly enough to raise Ronald's ears again.

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“There was a berry patch just outside of town,”

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he said. “I don't need to eat.”

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She sniffed and scanned the thatched-roof buildings.

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“Just a cup of good coffee and I'm done.”

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“Still dying, then?”

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His voice shifted to a tone that might have been disappointment or mockery.

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She couldn’t tell which. She stamped the last

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few paces to the little shop

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where Henry had first asked her

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if she wanted to have cubs.

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The place looked exactly as it always had,

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with large windows along the front,

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stools of various heights set along the sidewalk tables,

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and a pretty yellow door with daisies painted on it.

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The only difference she could note

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was the square closed sign

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hanging in the window.

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“Drat.” Tish stared at the sign.

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“Your shop isn't open.”

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“What time is it?” She could still smell the hints of coffee lingering around the stools,

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but the lights were off,

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and nothing moved inside.

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“Time to eat something,”

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Ronald said. “Come on.”

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“I'm not hungry.” Tish's belly rumbled at the lie.

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The fox's eyes widened.

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He tilted his head to one side

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and waved his tail faster.

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“It would be a shame to die on an empty stomach.” #

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“Sleeping on the cold ground is bound to do me in.”

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Tish stuffed a handful of sweet berries into her muzzle

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and grunted while she chewed.

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The night had grown soft and blue at the edges,

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but she could still make out Ronald's outline lounging on the grass.

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There was a chill to the earth,

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and it leached through her fur,

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but Ronald had found a thicket with soft enough ground that her bones didn't complain.

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“Good for you,” Ronald said.

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“A bear needs to sleep on the ground sometimes.”

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“I suppose you know all about bears.”

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Tish lifted the wide mug into the moonlight and squinted across at him,

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doubting he could see her expression at all.

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They'd gorged on berries until the sun went down,

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and then he'd emptied his thermos

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pouring them both another mug of coffee.

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“I might, in fact.” She leaned her head back

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and drained the last drops from the bear-sized cup.

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Overhead, the sky had broken out in stars.

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“I meant to die today.”

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“There's always tomorrow.”

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“You going to tell me about the mug?”

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He sighed, a long whisper of air in the darkness.

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Tish heard him shifting,

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fidgeting. A breeze riffled through the grass,

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and the fox spoke

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as if he were talking to his own memories.

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“I went with a bear once,

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not too long ago, in fact.

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The mug was his.” Tish nodded,

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whether or not he could see her.

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She kept quiet, allowing him to decide how much, if anything, he wanted to share.

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The breeze played with her fur,

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and she set down the mug and lay back to watch the sky bloom.

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After a long, quiet moment,

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Ronald began. “He was a grizzly.”

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“Ah. Sexy.” “You know it.”

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She smiled at his tone,

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at the humor and the hint of insecurity there.

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“We had a good time

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—two years’ worth.

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Lars was a lot of fun, a good friend…”

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“But?” “I thought we could get through the winter thing.

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You know, he'd nap and I'd just skulk about for a few months.”

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“Ah.” Tish nodded again.

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It wasn't easy for a bear to pursue a relationship with a non-torpor species.

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The bear missed out on so much,

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and the active partner had to keep themselves company for the long winter months.

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“That's a tough one.”

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“It was okay the first year.

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I got lonely, of course, but there was that great reunion when he finally got moving again.”

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“Wake-up sex.” Tish smiled at the stars.

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“Oh yeah.” They fell silent again,

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but tension lingered.

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Their humor had stalled his story.

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Tish found herself curious,

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interested in Ronald

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and what had happened with his bear.

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And she hadn't been interested in anything for a very long time.

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“So what happened?”

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She scritched at her fur absently and yawned.

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“That spring was great.

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Summer was good. But when fall rolled around, I started getting

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nervous, pulling back.” “Mm-hmm.”

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The stars twinkled down at her, and she remembered her first torpor,

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the way her body craved food like it would never eat again,

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the way her muscles turned to jelly,

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the way she had dreamed constantly of rest.

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“Things got tense,

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then nasty. I'd pick a fight and he'd pull farther away.”

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His claws clicked in the darkness,

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tapping together.

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“I guess I got scared,

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looking ahead to another long wait alone.

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I pushed him away,

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and he didn't exactly fight to stay.”

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“Likely couldn't,” Tish mumbled. Her eyes

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had grown heavy, and his story put a sad note in her chest.

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“Body starts shutting down on you.

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Not much energy to move,

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let alone argue.” “You think so?”

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“I do.” She smiled at the stars

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and let her eyes close.

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“Maybe he thought you'd be there when he woke up.”

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“Doubtful… Tish?” She jerked awake.

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“Yeah?” “I'll see you in the morning.”

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It wasn't quite a question.

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“Maybe.” A low chuckle shook her hairy body.

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She'd relaxed, drifted off,

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but it was nothing,

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nothing at all like the deep, languid winter torpor.

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“You never know, Ronald.

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You never know.” # The coffee aroma reached them before they were in sight of the shop.

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He tried to hide it,

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but Tish caught the fox sniffing the air out of the corner of her eye.

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There was no mistaking the anxious wagging of that bushy tail, either.

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She grinned and shuffled along at his side.

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Ronald was in for a treat.

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The night on the ground

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hadn't killed her.

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In fact, the pain in her neck had all but vanished,

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and her muscles felt properly stretched.

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As they approached the coffee shop,

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Tish's strides lengthened without any argument at all from her knees.

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“Smells good.” Ronald had been quiet for most of the morning,

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but his ears perked now, and his grin returned.

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“You might just be right about the coffee.”

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“Did you doubt me?”

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“Oh, yes.” His voice held steady,

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but the glint in his eyes gave away the tease.

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Tish nudged him with one shoulder

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and then hastened her steps,

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hurrying to the cafe entrance

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and beating the fox by a good four strides.

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The painted daisies smiled from their yellow field,

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and the old bear pulled open the door

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and inhaled the rich scents wafting from inside.

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They'd arrived on the heels of the morning rush,

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so they didn't have to wait long for their drinks.

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With two steaming mugs before them,

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they sat at one of the medium-sized tables.

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Ronald stretched a little

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to reach the ground with his toes,

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while Tish hunched ever so slightly to reach her drink.

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The town bustled around them

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as animals began their daily routines,

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but the table fell into a quiet serenity

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broken only by the sounds of their sipping.

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When they'd downed a good half of their coffees,

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Ronald perked up

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and leaned forward as far as he could.

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“This is very good coffee.

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Do you still plan on dying today?”

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Tish sat taller and looked around.

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The sun lifted above the trees,

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backed by a blue sky.

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There were plenty of flowers in the fields outside of town,

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and she figured Thornwood

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was as nice a place to give up

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as any. “Sure.” “Oh.” He sat back and nodded.

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His eyes narrowed.

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“I see.” “Don't have anything else on the schedule,”

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she added. “And it's a lovely day.”

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“Right, right. It's just…”

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He trailed off and turned his head to the side,

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staring toward the far end of town.

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“Lars and I used to collect honey not far from here.

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Our secret spot, you know.

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But it's not something a fox can fetch on his own.”

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“Honey?” Tish's belly woke up.

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Ronald gave a wistful sigh.

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“Been a while since I've tasted it.”

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“You miss him, don't you?”

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She kept her voice soft,

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but he jerked back anyway, shaking his head.

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She watched his paws drift over his mug,

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caressing it, lifting it slowly to his muzzle again.

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“I haven't had fresh honey in longer than I can remember.”

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“It's not far.” “I suppose dying could wait a little longer.”

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“There's always tomorrow.”

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Tish snorted. “Or tonight.

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Will it take us a whole day to fetch your secret stash?”

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“Oh, no.” He jumped from his stool,

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tail wagging, and danced from one foot to the other.

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“It's not that far.

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You should have plenty of time to die afterwards.”

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“It's the right time.”

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Tish set down her empty mug

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and tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.

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It had been a long time since she'd tasted fresh honey.

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Ronald really did know a bit about bears.

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“I'm old enough to die if I want to.”

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“After we get some honey?”

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“Yes, scamp.”

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She growled at him,

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but her heart wasn't in it.

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“After we get the honey.”

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The fox danced a happy jig,

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and the old bear sighed.

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They left the cafe, drifting out of Thornwood without talking,

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both lost in their own memories.

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Tish let the sun warm away the last of her torpor.

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Her belly sang of honey to be had,

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and her legs stretched out.

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Her steps sprang, and her stubby tail twitched beneath her skirts. #

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“I think the honey was better than the coffee.”

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Ronald sat with his back against the tree's trunk.

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Overhead, the bees had finally stopped buzzing and dive-bombing,

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going back to the work of repairing the damage Tish had done to their hive.

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“It was certainly worth the stings.”

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She rubbed both paws against her throbbing nose.

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“But just barely.” “Lars used to say the same thing.”

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His voice softened.

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He sighed and shifted so that he lay on his side beneath the tree.

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His paw threaded through the grass.

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A wistful expression softened his eyes and ears.

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“How long ago was your Lars?”

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Tish rolled to face him,

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propping herself up with one arm and taking a moment to lick the dregs of honey from her fingers.

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“Last fall.” There was agony in that confession

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and a touch of shame.

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“You mean this season's torpor?”

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“Yes.” Tish stuck her fingers in her mouth

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and sucked at the honey while she considered his confession.

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It wasn't her business, but he'd brought it up.

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He'd sought her out,

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perhaps, specifically because she was a bear.

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And his Lars would be out of torpor by now.

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“It's not easy dating a bear,”

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she said, rolling onto her back

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and stretching her arms wide.

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“But it's not easy on the bear either.

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You miss a lot. Every year you wake up wondering what happened while you slept.

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Will everything be where you left it?

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Will everyone be?” “Lars was pretty

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depressed right after he woke up.”

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“Depressed.” Tish sniffed the night air.

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There were lilies blooming somewhere.

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Fresh grass and thick nectar.

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Post-torpor depression was a real thing,

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but was Ronald worried about his Lars

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or was he talking about her?

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The ground felt cool beneath her spine,

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but her back didn't ache at all anymore.

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Her fur was graying, surely,

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but she was not so old as she'd imagined two days ago.

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In fact, she felt better than she had in ages.

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She felt like dying wasn't such a good idea after all.

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“I suppose we all wake up a little grumpy.”

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He chuckled, and the bees overhead

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buzzed a warning.

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In the distance, a cricket played a sad tune,

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but its power was lost on them.

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They both sat in the fading light,

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thinking. After a dozen breaths,

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Ronald broke the silence.

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“How forgiving do you suppose a post-torpor bear will be?”

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“Well.” Tish closed her eyes and chuckled, deep in her chest where she'd only just remembered what it was to be a bear.

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“I suppose that will depend on how much honey you bring him.”

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The fox's laugh had a high whine to it.

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It floated over the top of hers

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—a nervous song, but a hopeful one.

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Tish wrapped her paws around her body and sighed.

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Laughing had a magic of its own,

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like good coffee and great company.

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His voice sounded sleepy when he spoke again,

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barely audible. “Thanks, Tish.”

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“Thank you, Ronald.”

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She sighed and let the grass cradle

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her. The torpor was gone.

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The last of her aches and pains went with it.

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Only ordinary sleep would take her now,

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and, if she was lucky,

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dreams of her mate,

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her cubs, and a belly full of sweetest honey. #

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Ronald was gone when she awoke.

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She didn't need to sniff the air to know he wasn't coming back.

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The mug he'd left her said enough.

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A bear-sized cup brimming with honey

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waited in the spot where he'd slept.

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He'd taken more than a few stings for that.

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Tish smiled, imagining his poor nose swollen with stings,

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his velvet paws scrubbing at the burn that couldn't end soon enough.

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The sun lit the treetops but hadn't reached the grass.

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Dew made a damp mat of her bed.

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She stood, trundled to the mug of golden sugars,

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and dipped her tongue into it.

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Delicious, but she should save some for later. She had a lovely clay jar for honey and it probably needed dusting.

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Since she didn't want to die anymore,

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she should probably head home.

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Carrying Ronald's gift,

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Tish headed off with the bees singing her an eager farewell.

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Her post-torpor funk had lifted.

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Her steps came without stiffness,

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and her knees kept quiet about it.

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She was old, but she was a bear,

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and she had things to do.

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As she walked, she wondered if Ronald had found his bear,

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if Lars would forgive him

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as easily as she suspected.

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She'd have liked to know how it went.

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If they reunited.

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Tish breathed deeply and pushed her shoulders back, straightening her spine.

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Maybe she'd see them soon.

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Maybe Ronald and his bear would drop in for coffee.

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She might even go looking for them eventually,

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find out what happened.

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Maybe. Today she had a house to dust.

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But there was always tomorrow.

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This was “Always Tomorrow”

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by Frances Pauli,

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read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion.

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Thank you for listening to the Voice of Dog

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About the Podcast

Show artwork for The Voice of Dog
The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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About your host

Profile picture for Khaki

Khaki