Miss Willow walked over to Maknae Vivi’s desk to hand her a stack of flattened snak boxes for her to fold and use as needed. She absently patted the Gazelle that had wandered in, undoubtedly one of the poor transmogrified Moorim School first-years who failed her transmogrification exam and would have to wait a whole year before being able to retake it in hopes of passing.
Miss Willow took off her platinum-frame reading glasses, briefly rubbed the bridge of her nose, and gave Niles a cool stare. “Two thousand year old balls of koala lint in need of a constant supply of eucalyptus pesto should remember who their betters are. If it were not for Miss Willow, you would be washing dishes at the Italian Stallion Ristorante and Wine Bar for stubbies and sangas and begging Aussie tourists on the street for a different kind of ready green.”
Miss Willow gestured toward Maknae Vivi. “And you would not now have a job as a consultant if our staff members were not sticklers for detail.”
"This poor child . . . " She patted Greta’s head gently, "cannot help her circumstances. She is studying one of the more difficult subjects Moorim school offers and is toughing it out. It’s a good thing she has her Badger Productions internship to fall back on.
“Who knew that transmogrified gazelles have the metabolism of a gnat and require a diet of heirloom Aztec popcorn tthat must be flown in daily from Mexico City? Not I.”
Niles held up a paw. “Talk to the paw. I am going out to the back parking lot to take a meditation break with my friend OSPD-nim.” And he slowly climbed down from Maknae Vivi’s desk and slowly ambled down the hall toward the back door of the office, whistling “Waltzing Matilda” in three-part harmony.
Miss Willow called after Niles. “Smug indifference is not a good look on you, in case you don’t know!”
She continued to stroke Greta’s head gently. “Don’t worry dear, it’s not always this bad. I know things seem unfair and terribly annoying at the moment, but they will get better. We will do everything to help you in your time of need.”
Miss Willow looked at Maknae Vivi and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say about OSPD-nim other than to point out he needs to find a source of Ritalin-flavored crisps.”
Greta the Gazelle gently licked Miss Willow’s hand and began to eat the cuff of her cashmere cardigan.