Richard Scarry’s Best Luck Ever

By Melissa Mapes
The bleary-eyed rabbit wrapped her paws around a coffee mug for warmth. Although we were indoors, the chill of a Bostonian spring seeped through the walls.
“Some night last night,” she said, flicking her ears for emphasis.
“Yep,” I replied, “Some night indeed.” I took a long drink from my own mug and leaned against the counter. Unthinkingly I began to scratch my back up against it, moving up and down, up and down.
“You’re shedding,” the rabbit said. I looked down and sure enough, black fur was floating to the floor from my backside. I sighed as I lumbered to the broom closet a...