Jack notices an unusual number of white hairs on the backs of his hands. Aw heck, he thinks, I'm getting more grays. Damn middle-age. He knelt behind the counter to set up his jars of biscotti. Almond, chocolate, macadamia nut, and his own specialty, cinnamon raisin, all go up on the counter just beside the "Flavor of the Month" bulletin. He puts his hand on the counter to raise himself off the ground, but as he moves his weight to it, his fingers lose their grip. Jack manages to catch the edge of the counter with his fingernails. As he lifts himself to the level of the countertop, he notices that his nails had left deep grooves in the dark wood. He curses himself for not trimming his nails, and goes to look for the wood stain in the closet, hoping no one will notice the marred counter if the color is the same.
The lightbulb in the closet has been blown out for a week now. Jack tries to search for the stain by touch, but he can't seem to get a good hold on anything. Frustrated now, he grabs the flashlight by the closet door and tries to turn it on, but somehow, he cannot reach the switch. His thumb slips right off the button everytime he pushes down, and using two hands is no better. He holds the flashlight between his thighs and hits the button as hard as he can. The light comes on, and he realizes to his horror that the reason his thumb could not reach the switch is because he no longer has a thumb. Jack is staring at two big, white, furry paws.
Jack lets the light drop from between his legs, which, frightningly, feel furry beneath his trousers. He sputters for a moment, unsure of what to do next.
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