“You should check out my club sometime,” the wolf barked as he tapped his claws on the top of my cube wall. Gawd, I hated when he did that. Not like I could tell him that, really. He was my new boss, even though privately I thought he was an annoying noob. I think he was hired solely on three letters on his resume: MBA.

“It’s got everything,” he continued. “Even personal trainers. You could use some direction, cat. Might help put some meat on those bones.”

I cringed. Every lunch hour, he’d catch me in the hallway wearing my jogging shorts and he’d make some remark about how thin I was. Any average observer would say I’ve got a nice lean musculature, but it’s not like my nitwit boss to be subtle. Or correct. Four weeks in and I was already covering for him. I’d be gone an hour to run. He’d spend three at the casual dining joint down the street marinating in a few cocktails. Afternoons meant he was more useless than normal. At least he didn’t wander the floor soused.

He tossed a plastic card on my keyboard and admonished me for being so emaciated before wandering over to the fax machine. Who the hell faxes these days? My boss, that’s who.

I turned the card over in my paws. As expected, it was the most expensive health club in town. It sat high on a hill overlooking the city and catered to the well-heeled and well-connected. Trust fund babies and bored executives seemed to gravitate to the place. It boasted two Olympic-sized pools, a massive tennis complex, a gigantic weight room, a four-star restaurant and a spa – and that was just on their home page. A cursory tour of their web site revealed a mind-boggling list of amenities. No posted membership fees, which of course reinforced the old maxim: if you have to ask how much something is, you can’t afford it.

My battered old Toyota looked utterly out of place in the parking lot. A valet jogged up to me and asked if I could use the employee parking lot instead. I sighed and showed him the plastic card. He shrugged and walked away, no doubt muttering about missing out on a tip. I guess us plebes don’t grease his paw like the elites who hand him the keys to their Masaratis for a day of pampering their rich asses. For the first time in my life, I swore I’d never be a pompous twit if I ever got wealthy.

The front reception desk was a massive monument to non-sustainable forest products. I was certain it was carved out of old-growth trees. Both employees behind it looked bored as they eyed me up and down and scanned my plastic card. “Today only. Leave by eight this evening. Sign this.” An iPad was shoved in my face by the sour-looking fox on the right. On it was a long list of rules and restrictions. I skimmed the section on the dress code and used my claw to sign in the box provided. The vixen sneered at me as she snatched it from my paws. “Don’t break anything,” was her icy reply as she passed me a locker key and pointed towards an oaken door with an “M” in brass affixed to the middle panel. I hastily made my way inside.

There’s something about a group of naked animals that really democratizes us all. Without expensive clothing, the locker room becomes a kind of equalizer. A big bear sniffed his own armpits as I walked past. Two elk held a loud conversation about their workouts. A ferret dug through his bag frantically. For all I know, any of them could have been a CEO, lawmaker or big shot in this town. I did recognize a city council member sniffing his running shorts. You might be an elected official, but dogs everywhere can’t resist sticking their snouts in fragrant things.

I found the corresponding locker to the brass number attached to the key ring. The smooth pine construction of the lockers was an extreme contrast to the clanging metal things the rest of us are used to. I quickly stripped and donned my running tights, eager to try out one of the two running tracks. I wondered if the spa was an extra-charge service as I stretched my calf muscles.

Now where? I looked around the locker room and padded towards the opposite side I arrived from. It led to the showers. I tried another passageway, but it led towards the urinals and stalls. Befuddled, I went back the way I came and spotted a pair of swinging doors down a hallway that led to a fairly grand space overlooking the golf course. Animals in exercise gear and expensive garb filled the massive hall. My nose detected the restaurant was nearby while my eyes watched the club members moving about, coming and going down various hallways. Spying an electronic kiosk, I called up a map and routed myself to the nearest running track.

My path led me through the biggest weight room I’d ever seen. There were dozens of beefy guys here – half of them actually lifting and half of them chattering away with each other. I slowed my pace a bit to admire their bodies and yelped as my shoulder connected with what I thought was a wall.

“Bro!” the big moose thundered. “Look where ya goin’, cat!” I lifted my muzzle up to meet his. I was now chest-to-chest with the largest moose in the room. Well, it was more chest-to-abs. He was at least a foot taller than me, not counting his antlers. The musk he gave off would have knocked me flat had my adrenaline not shot up a second before.

“Uh. Sorry,” I squeaked. Dear. Gawd. Moose was built like a small battleship. He could break me in half and still bench press my Toyota for fun.

“New here?” he snorted. I nodded meekly.

I was startled as he wrapped a huge arm around my neck and shoved me under his right armpit. My heart raced as I realized he was now scent-marking me… I think. Part of me wondered exactly what he was doing. Regardless, his moose-musk was now all over my left shoulder. He grinned and flexed his left bicep. I couldn’t ignore his massive right bicep pressing against the back of my neck, his pulse thrumping against my spine. Moose had guns. Big guns.

“You came for these, huh?”

“Huh? Uh. Yeah. I want that. Badly.” Holy moly, did I ever want that. All for myself.

“You gotta work for it, scrawny kitty,” he chuckled. “Ain’t gonna happen overnight. Gotta keep at it. Soon you’ll be like me!” The moose’s maw was now inches from mine. I could smell peppermint. At least he liked to brush his teeth. The temptation to lick his snout was strong. My eyes moved downward to the front of his sweat pants. It was plain to see he wasn’t wearing undies.

I think I only managed to make weird little sounds at that point. Staring at me, he released me from his bro-grip. “Take these, cat.” He handed me a pair of ten-pound dumbbells. I held them like shopping bags. The last time I’d tried weights was back in college. “Bicep curls. Show me.”

I managed three reps before he stepped behind me, his hot breath on top of my head. “Like this,” he rumbled. He adjusted my shoulders a bit and guided my movement with his gigantic hands. I could immediately feel the difference in my muscles. We spent the better part of an hour on different exercises, his huge yet gentle hands on various parts of my body. I wish I could have continued, but my muscles were screaming with satisfied pain.

The moose’s eyes lit up as he chuckled at my exhaustion. “Damn good, bro. You got it! Same time tomorrow?”

Oh, right. The one-day pass. My likelihood of returning was pretty much nil. I explained the situation to my new beefy bro friend. He studied me carefully.

“This way, dude,” he grunted as he took my arm and pulled me up. I followed him across the expansive weight room floor and into a wood-panelled elevator. I clandestinely studied his physique in the mirror as he pressed the button for the top floor. With a whoosh and a ding, we were in a carpeted suite with a separate reception desk and several employees on phones. The executive offices for the club, I surmised. We strode past a half-dozen offices marked with impressive titles before arriving at one marked Chief Operating Officer.

We went inside.

It’s been three months now. My arms are a bit bigger and I’ve been spending tons of time with my moose friend. I now while away my lunch hours alternating between the weight room and one of the two running tracks here at the club. I’ve even taken up swimming after work. Things are so much better when you have an employee pass. It’s even better when you have your own office at the club and report to the most awesome bromoose around.

Every now and then I see my old boss at the club. As I suspected, he never tries anything physical, unless you count hoisting martinis to your maw as exercise. The twit never bothered to say goodbye on my last day working for him, but he sure as hell almost choked on an olive the first time he saw me and my bromoose hover over him with his unpaid, overdue alcohol tab.