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A walk of only six blocks brought the four friends to a very discreet door just off the high street, tucked away in the small, short road with the amusing sign of "Panthera Mews." Simba laughed, pointing out the sign to Kovu. "I'll bet he does, with the right attentions!"

"I never did get that, as a joke," Kovu said, a little embarrassed.

"It's what we Americans might call a quaint custom," Jack grinned. "In Britain, old stables with rooms above them were built along a yard or alley, and they were called mews. Later, short streets with houses or apartments built from those stables, or made to look like them, kept the word for the street name."

"Jack is a wealth of useless information." Joe laughed as his husband fetched a playful slap to his arm. "It's still a good joke, though, as you'll soon see." He stepped up to the door and knocked.

Within moments, an impeccably well-dressed black panther opened the door to admit them. "Mr. Wolf, Mr. Fox, delighted to see you again. May I presume to introduce myself to your guests? I am Hector de la Paglia, proprietor and chief tailor, at your service." He bowed low, his sleek form like that of a ballet dancer, graceful, fluid, his movements polished to the point of performance. "Please, call me Hector."

Joe took up the request. "Hector, this is Simba and Kovu, our most trusted friends. I have told them only of your magnificence as a designer and creator of the finest and most special clothing in all the country, if not the world."

"You are too kind, good wolf, and I thank you. Let us go in, then, and get you gentlefurs settled for your time in my shop."

The tailor stepped aside to let them in, closing and locking the door behind them. Simba started a bit at the sound, but Joe put a forepaw to his arm. "We are Hector's only customers today."

The great amber lion nodded, his fiery mane dancing slightly in the soft light of the shop's entry hall. The space was open, like a small reception area, with walls covered in what looked like dark chocolate-brown velvet, the color of Kovu's mane, and padded like cushions but with an intricate stitchery. Simba thought fleetingly of the jokes about "padded cells," but he gamely followed everyone further into the shop.

In the main room, Joe headed directly for one of two well-padded chairs, the backs of which only went about two-thirds of the way up his back. He had expected such a place as this to have wing-back chairs, usually considered the epitome of luxury. In front of each was a short padded stool on which one could rest one's hindpaws in comfort. He moved to sit in his own chair. Between him and Jack stood a small table, which the panther indicated with the flourish of his forepaw. "Would you care for some refreshment? Coffee, tea, water, wine... not that I turn one into the other, mind you."

Joe clearly had heard this jest before, but he seemed still to enjoy it. "We've just had coffee, thank you, Hector. Perhaps in a bit."

Two Citras -- handsome young servants in a livery vest, a bow tie and white cloth collar about each neck, white cloth cuffs at their wrists (no shirt, and no pants, Simba noted, more than a little surprised) -- moved to escort Jack and Kovu into the back, where they would be measured and fitted with clothing for their husbands to approve or change as they wished. "John, Jeffrey," the panther instructed his servants, "you remember Mr. Fox, and this is Kovu. You'll find your instructions and racks of standard wear in the dressing rooms. We will see you shortly..."

TO BE CONTINUED...