Richie was an average guy. There was nothing special about him, as it would appear. The only thing that set him aside in his city was that he wasn't anthropomorphic, that just made him even less interesting to the casual observer. He had an average job, an average apartment, and lived alone. But not everything - or every[i]one[/I] - is just as they appear...
*          *         *

	Richie was a regular pencil-pusher, and, even at his office job, he's a nobody. Only when the dick of the office rolls around (c'mon, you know every job has one guy that's a complete asshole, it's impossible not to), does he get noticed in the slightest. Like right now, for instance.

	Richie was in the break room, minding his own business and drinking a cup of coffee. But, as routine dictates, Lawrence, a rabbit, and Richie's harrasser, strode in, and began with his usual immaturity.

	"Eh, what's up, Dick?" he said, taking advantage of a nickname for "Richard" that Richie absolutely hated.

	When Richie ignored him, things typically got worse, so he played it cool. "Nothing, as usual," he said casually.

	"Oh. That's cool," he said, in a mockingly interested voice, "so you want to join me for lunch later?"

	"Oh, sorry, I can't do that," Richie lied. He'd gotten quite used to lying, and good at it as well, "I'm swamped! This is just to keep me up."

	"Yeah, Dick, you need to stay up," he said grinning. A tigress in the room giggled slightly.

	"Would you look at the time?" Richie said, pretending to look at his watch, and excusing himself, "I really have a lot to do..."

	Before Lawrence could come up with more questions, or some kind of half-witty joke, Richie was gone, back to his cubicle. He spent the rest of the day there, lunch included. He had all of his work done early for the day, but he still looked busy, organizing this and that, re-arranging this, and whatever else came to mind. Things were going well. Until Lawrence made his rounds again near quitting time.

	"Hey, Richie!" he said, "Look, I'm really sorry about all of those jokes, y'know? I want to make it up to you." He handed Richie a Lottery ticket. It was one of those scratch-offs, but, hey, what's the worst that could happen if he took it? So he did after he thanked Lawrence, and scratched off one of the squares, revealing the words: "You've won: $100,000!"

	Richie’s hand flew to his mouth. [i]100k? Woah! He probably would've never thought...[/I]

	Richie heard some chuckling, and looked around. It wasn't Lawrence, but it was someone who always enjoyed his jokes. No matter what it was, Richie always saw him laughing at his rabbit friend's jokes, sometimes ruing the moment. This was one such ruined moment, as Richie scratched the other squares, all of them revealing the same thing. As he felt his anger come to a boil, he saw the clock. It was quitting time, and he didn't have to put up with this any longer. He was in his car, and driving away before Lawrence could call his friend a moron.
*          *         *

	As Richie got home, feeling exhausted as he usually did upon arriving home after work. He sat down on the small couch, and didn't even bother to flick on the TV; there was never anything on. He just rested there for a while. He couldn't tell how long it had been before he got up, but the time didn't worry him. He felt like he didn't have the energy to cook, so he ordered a pizza. Luckily for him, he lived within a block of the family-owned pizzeria, Jimmy's.

	The owner himself answered the call. He and Richie were kind of friends; Richie would always chat with him over a few slices on Sundays, and usually had a good time doing so. When Jimmy heard who was calling, he said, "Hey, Richie! Why don't you come down here? Maybe we could have a little chat. You know, about how things are goin', and whatnot?"

	"Sorry Jimmy," Richie said, not feeling much like talking right now, "I had a hard day at work, and I'm not feeling so hot. Not the flu or anything.... I just think that it would be best to stay home."

	"Alright," Jimmy reluctantly agreed. Within minutes, the delivery boy was there, collecting the money, and giving him his pizza. He grabbed a few slices and headed to the computer in his room. He sat down, and looked at the slices. Loaded a bit heavier than the standard. [i]Good ole Jimmy[/I], he thought, taking a bite.

	He logged on to deviantart. There was nothing new... just the zillions of new art submissions that appeared overnight. He browsed for a while, and found nothing interesting. He finished his third piece, and decided to clock in early tonight. He felt a little better, plugging his headphones into his iPod, and began to listen to some trance that he had recently put on there. Euphoric Venture, by this guy on furaffinity with an account called "Carcar."

	He was almost asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The dark room, his bed, his pillow, vanished beneath him, replaced by darkness. The only sense that Richie had was hearing, as he happily listened to the song, its upbeat melody jettisoning him far from Lawrence, the office, even his boring life....

	Then, he found himself in a savanna, tall grasses for miles around, a few sparse trees dotted the landscape. Though this wasn't the odd part. Richie was the king of this savanna, the only male lion around. He didn't know how he knew, but it was just one of those things... that you could just tell. Intuition, perhaps. Regardless, Richie walked around, as close to a grin he could muster on his contorted face. No one would mess with him, no one would stand in his way. He felt the sun on his face, and he felt wonderful, hearing Euphoric Venture the whole way.
*         *          *

	Undenounced to Richie, who's mind was sound asleep, his body was far from the page his mind was on. As soon as Richie was fully asleep, his body began to comply with Alex, or Al, as he prefers. The first thing to change was Richie's hair, growing out to shoulder length, his sideburns followed suit, connecting under his chin, resulting in a mane, as his face jutted forth by the nose and mouth. His ears shifted upwards, and became pointed, sensitive, cat ears, the ear buds falling out. A layer of tawny fur covered his new features, working its way down, erasing more and more of Richie, and creating more of Al. His shoulders broadened, his muscles increased dramatically, pulling the sleeves of the t-shirt he was wearing taut. His abs became a six-pack, stiff as iron. His legs experienced something similar to his arms, also pulling his jeans tight over the new bulk of muscle. Last to happen, was a tail snaked it's way down a tight pantleg, it's brown, fluffy tip protruding out from the bottom.

	Richie, more accurately, [i]Alex[/I], walked over to the closet. Richie had never known where he had got a denim jacket, that was far too big, nor did he know where the larger jeans with a tail hole, nor the plain black tee that were also far too large, but Al knew. He shed the garments that he was wearing throughout the duration of his transformation, and put on the garments that Richie had just left there. It felt nice to be out again, and he was ready to have a little fun.
*          *          *

	A few blocks away, on the side of the street, was a '66 Shelby Cobra, Dark blue, and reflecting the moon's pale blue light. Lawrence's Shelby Cobra. With a smirk, his index claw out on his left hand, and a baseball bat clenched in the other, Al walked down the passenger side, his claw making a fine, jagged white line in the car's paint. The smirk widened, as he said a quiet, sarcastic, "Oops!" He swung the bat, smashing the passenger-side headlight, the glass making delicate [i]Tink![/I] sounds as they hit the pavement below. He hit the driver's side as well.

	He dropped the bat, and unzipped his bookbag that he had just bought on the way here, and he took out a gallon of bleach. He opened it, on his way to the gas tank, which he also opened, inserted a funnel (also bought for this occasion only minutes ago), and proceed to pour the clear, yellowish liquid in. He laughed to himself, seeing it go through the whole machine, causing it to rust and seize up...

	He didn't dare open the door to tear up the apolstry; the thing was probably locked anyway. He got the bat again, and smashed the tail lights. On the car's long hood, he scrawled 100,000 over and over again, and stood back to admire his handiwork. It only took him a few seconds to realize that he hadn't gone far enough. Swinging the bat with his massive arms, he beat the frame of the Cobra, almost to a point that it was unrecognizable. Finally pleased, he ditched the pack's contents in a nearby garbage can. [i]Larry's gonna freak when he sees this tomorrow...[/I] Al thought, as his grin grew even wider.
*         *         *

	Richie awoke the next morning, and went about his day. He put a pot of coffee on, and hit the shower before work. He dressed and left, after grabbing a few cups of coffee, but feeling light, carefree, almost happy to be going to work. But nothing could really prepare him for what he was going to encounter when he arrived.

	Richie got to his cubicle, to find a ferret detective sitting in his chair, examining Richie's Previous day's work, and the fake lotto ticket. "Ah, right on time," He said, looking at the clock, "Not a second past the time you're supposed to be here."

	"Sir, may I enquire as to what you're doing behind my desk?" Richie asked, slightly confused.

	"Just investigatin'," he said, "Typically what you'd hire a detective for."

	"And what are you investigating me for?" Richie asked, more perplexed than before.

	"You didn't hear? A man named Lawrence filed a police report about the vandalism of his car. And boy, did someone do a number on it..."

	"I still don't see what this has to do with me," Richie said, nonchalant. It was about time someone got Larry for his behavior, and it didn't really come as much of a shock to him that someone did something like that.

	"Speaking of numbers... there's something about the number 100,000," the detective said, "it's the number on this card, a ridiculous amount of anything, is you ask me..."

	"Can you please get to the point? I've got work to do," Richie said, not getting what was going on.

	"My point?" The detective said, standing and putting himself in Richie's face, playing the bad cop, "You know what my point is, someone scratched 100,000 into the hood of Lawrence's car, many, many times. Now, if that doesn't look incriminating, I don't know what does, aside from key with custom electric blue paint under it."

	"Well you can check my keys; I only keep one set," Richie said, fishing them out of his pocket, and handing them to the detective, who inspected them. Clean as a whistle.

	The detective handed them back, "Ok, I've got more people to talk to, but don't think you're in the clear."

	He walked off, and didn't talk to Richie again all day, that day...