So an anonymous commissioner has led to not only drawing Mixen, a character I only just recently brought back after like 20 years, fat for the first time, but also the first time drawing Cookie thin!  I even wrote a spur-of-the-moment short story:

Charlene "Cookie" Foxx is slimming down fast, as her secret stash of her namesake cookies keeps vanishing overnight. The butter biscuits she's eating are no replacement for her favorite brand, Royal's Chunks Away.  As if it were the source of her power, her chocolate chip cookie deprivation is making her drop weight rapidly. Her skin sags like a deflated balloon, we can now see bones that haven't been visible on her since high school, her stomach endlessly growls louder than a lion, and all her clothes hang off her like bags.  She's the lightest she's ever weighed as an adult.  Starved as she was, Cookie couldn't help but notice the figure of her normally buxom yet small-waisted wife, Mixen, had rapidly puffed up into a wobbling blubbersack, just about her own former size. 

The Pink Mink (who is actually a pine marten) looked like piece of chewed gum, mid-bubble-blow, her billowing flab obliterating every button and waistband in her wardrobe.  It was as if Cookie was unknowingly transferring her own lard to Mixen overnight as they slept, cuddled up tightly in bed.  It was strange, it didn't seem like Mixie was eating any more than usual.  There was only one obvious reason behind this phenomenon, but it was just too unthinkable for Cookie, so she remained in denial. 

"Mixen might be allergic to her perfume!"

"The cookies were taken by rats, or ants! Or a very fat bee?"

"Maybe Mix's metabolism is slower now that we're over 40!"

"Maybe we have a very specific burglar!"

"It was Rebbecca!"

Eventually the stomach growls drowned out Cookie's delusional thoughts. So she had to find out the truth. 

Going to bed that night after stashing away a brand new pack of Chunks Away in the pantry, Cookie wakes in the dead of the night to stake out the stash.  She immediately notices her partner isn't in bed with her. "She's in the bathroom," Cookie thinks to herself, in a desperate attempt to convince herself the thing that's happening isn't happening. She gets up, her frilly purple night top sways over her hanging boobs, she tightens the drawstring on her pants.  As she approaches the door, she feels something cold and metallic on the sole of her foot. She might have crushed it when she was 400 pounds, but at a mere 250--practically skin and bones!--she doesn't even dent it.  Cookie picks it up to investigate, she immediately recognizes it: it's a button, specifically a button from the green plaid pajamas she saw Mixen wearing to bed.  "This was from a different night," she fibs internally.  She creeps to the pantry, noticing her increased stealth now that the floor no longer creaked with her every step. It also allowed her to clearly hear the sound from behind the curtain to the pantry: a distinctly familiar crinkling and tearing of a foil-wrapped snack package being opened and the plastic tray containing the sweet treasures being pulled out. 

Cookie gulps. The moment of truth she's been fearing is at hand.  She flings the curtain open, and....