here is Jenn's story:
I want to tell you about Dewey Decimal. He's a manly cat - at least he always thought he was. He's got the claws, the swagger, the swish swish tail and the scar over his eye from brawl outside a club back in the day. His balls are there, present and correct, high and tight, wearing a corona of white, persil-smelling fluff. He likes to show them to Jackie O, watch her blush under her parasol. He likes saying things like 'darling' and 'petal' and 'sugar-britches'. He's a manly cat. A man-cat. A Tom. Monty, Mr. Pickles and Lisping John Murphies might be the strongest cats, they might be the official drawer-openers, but its only because he's never bothered entering the arm-restling tournament. He's nothing to prove.
One day he goes into his berth for a cigarette and he sees it lying there on the coverlet. He isn't sure what it is at first. He picks it up, examines it. He catches sight of his puzzled face in the mirror at the same time as he realises what it is. It's small, it's brown. It's a little small brown joke out of a cracker. A plastic moustache. Just for fun, he tries it on. He gets up onto his back legs and looks in the mirror. He's pondering the effect, wondering if he is more manly with it or less, when Childleg's face appears in the mirror over his shoulder. Their eyes meet, and Dewey Decimal can't think what he is supposed to say. He drops onto all fours. He says 'sweet-pea.' When he looks up again Childleg is gone.
The other cats treat him differently after that. They used to call him 'Dew', for short, because he was such a manly cat. Now they call him Dewey Decimal. He's an angst-cat, a closet-cat, a can't-make-a-rolly-with-one
Dewey wakes up from a dream about Childleg. He has an erection. He tries to think about Jackie O, but her parasol is hiding her face. The parasol has a picture of Childleg printed on it. Childleg is wearing the special neckerchief. He's looking manly, the manliest of cats. Dewey Decimal blinks slowly and tries to think of a reason for saying 'sweet-pea'. He waits until the deck is empty and throws the plastic moustache overboard. He wonders if he should consider the arm-wrestling competition. He thinks about killing Childleg.
He knows he's never going to get to touch that Christmas Pudding again.