Pom and I had been waiting in the shop for almost half an hour before the gentle tinkling of the bell alerted us that we had customers. I hastily stowed the cards we had been playing with under the bench and tried to look like a polite, responsible shop owner. It wasn’t easy - I am a fox, after all - but people have always told me that I have an unusually honest face and I hoped that it would be enough to convince people.

The customers, a pair of young otters, eyed Pom and me with slight suspicion. We probably deserved that, considering that just last month, we’d been the most notorious criminals in the district. Unfortunately, our notoriety was not due to any particular skill of ours - in fact, it was largely the opposite. In one way or another, my candour led any operation we tried into hot water. I had tried, I really had, but lying, conning, cheating, scamming and thievery were simply not in my nature. So Pom and I had, reluctantly (and to the horror of my family), decided to go honest.

One otter peered around our little shop while the other gave us a tentative smile. Pom gave her her toothiest grin. I smiled apologetically, hoping to offset the effects of Pom’s canines. It would be a bad start to our business if we managed to scare off our very first customers.

“We’re just looking around,” one of them said, glancing at the different clothing we had in stock. Running a clothing store was notoriously difficult for small businesses in communities such as these - inhabited by many different species, each requiring completely different sizes of clothing. A bear could not wear an eagle’s shirt, for example, nor could I wear Pom’s dress.

The otters seemed slightly twitchy. Well, that wasn’t surprising considering that we did have… a degree… of notoriety. Me, the scion of a feared crime family and Pom a notorious troublemaker, insofar as one can be considered a ‘notorious troublemaker’ in late middle age. At least the otters had taken a chance, had entered the shop at all.

Now, before we continue, a word about Pomona. Pom is a skunk, but please don’t hold it against her. She’s really quite civilised. Well, usually.

“Would you like any help with that, dears?” she said in a honeyed voice so sweet that it crossed the line to sounding evil.

“No, I think we’re okay,” one quavered. The other simply scurried into the change room.

“Suit yourselves,” she replied languidly. That’s Pom for you. She believes that the idea that all sentient animals should get along is a myth. In her words: “Just because I can’t eat you doesn’t mean we’re friends.” I like to think that the animals at the top of the food chain are a community, but Pom… doesn’t.

“Lovely weather today, isn’t it?” I asked, too loudly by most standards, trying to distract our poor customers. “Well, it isn’t really, but some people like that sort of thing.”

The otter glanced out the window at the faint sprinkle of rain. That was probably the only reason they had come in here in the first place. I sighed. I was forced to contemplate the fact that, just maybe, going straight wasn’t the best idea.

But it was too late to go back now.