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GRISSOM: Whoa. That's a lot of blood for blunt force trauma.

CATHERINE: This isn't a costume. It's a six-foot condom. Explains why there
was no blood on the road.

GRISSOM: Yeah, his tailor didn't think of everything. His suit's not
bulletproof.

(CATHERINE thinks about that one.)

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CATHERINE: PAF con?

GRISSOM: The Plushies and Furries convention. And we're looking for a bright blue Plushie ... I think.

(GRISSOM and CATHERINE stare at the group of people dressed in costume. GRISSOM look fascinated by the sight; CATHERINE looks perplexed.)

GRISSOM: This is fascinating. A whole tribe of people who prefer to interact as furry animals rather than human beings.

CATHERINE: I think I'm having Hunter Thompson's flashbacks. This is weirding me out.

GRISSOM: It's not that weird. It's instinctual. Many native American tribes wore entire bearskins, including the bead, when they performed their war dances. They thought it made them brave.

CATHERINE: I'm not getting the brave thing.

GRISSOM: Well, think of stuffed animals as a Jungian archetype. What's the one quality they possess that a man like Bob Pitt might want?

CATHERINE: A full head of hair?

GRISSOM: They're lovable. We better divide and mingle.

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GRISSOM: Well, clearly, this kitty costume is where bud felt safe enough to skritch. I wonder if he felt safe enough to explore some of the more aggressive
aspects of his animus.

CATHERINE: So, if we follow the ipecac and civet oil, maybe it'll lead us to the shooter. I don't see a compartment for a concealed rifle. Okay, well ... I've heard of some guys getting off in some weird ways, but humping an animal suit? Well, whatever happened to normal sex?

GRISSOM: What is normal sex?

CATHERINE: Uh, you think it's natural for a grown human to only be intimate with a talking animal?

GRISSOM: Well, Freud said that the only unnatural sexual behavior was to have none at all. And after that, it's just a question of opportunity and preference. And evidently, many prefer the feel of fur to the texture of human skin.

CATHERINE: Well, I like hairy chests, but I'm not about to bop a six-foot weasel.

(GREG walks into the lab.)

GRISSOM: Bud is starting to look like a pretty bad cat. Trace from his costume.

(GRISSOM looks at the print results.)

GRISSOM: Well, identical to the trace we found in Rocky Raccoon's vomit. Ipecac and civet oil.

GREG: Well, that's what you get for eating ...

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CATHERINE: Ooh! These costumes are pretty marinated. Smokey could've used some deodorant.

GRISSOM: Well, you know, pheromones are the basis for mammalian reproduction. When the female is in estrus, the male picks up on her come-get-me scent. But most mammals only copulate seasonally.

CATHERINE: How boring.

GRISSOM: F

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GRISSOM: Okay, assuming that Linda and Bob were heading home after Bob got sick at the hotel, how did he end up on the side of the road?

CATHERINE: You ever have a car fight?

(GRISSOM turns around to look at CATHERINE.)

CATHERINE: You know, if a couple has any kind of history together, they know how to press each other's buttons. And you lock 'em up in a metal box with wheels on a bad night, they're going to start pressing 'em. You follow?

GRISSOM: So, uh, either Bob told Linda to stop the car and let him out, or she told him to start walking?

CATHERINE: Yes. That one. I mean, it's bad enough that raccoon-boy blows his girlfriend off to go fur-piling -- he gets sick licking some nasty kitty and makes lambchop drive him home.

GRISSOM: Which begs the question: Why did she turn the car around and head back toward the hotel?

CATHERINE: Well, she wasn't heading back to the hotel. She was heading back for him. 'Cause that's how car-fights always end. After about a mile or two, you start to feel guilty that you've abandoned the person, and you turn around. Except she didn't plan on an 18-wheeler finishing her off.

GRISSOM: Mack truck ex machina.

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