His thoughts were rudely interrupted when she grabbed a corner of the sheet in her teeth and yanked it off the bed with no warning whatsoever.  Too late, he remembered that the hospital johnny he was wearing was way too short to preserve his modesty.  Even worse, as she turned she swished her tail and he got the kind of view that cost extra in the few gentlemen’s clubs he’d occasionally frequented through the years.  If nothing else, it confirmed his gender guess.  Face burning, he jerked his eyes upward and focused as best he could on the cracked plaster ceiling, trying to pay no attention to whatever it was that she was doing or examining.  It was a skill which he had honed over years of visiting his doctor—Dale could hardly imagine trying to engage in small talk with someone who wanted him to turn his head and cough; and at least his normal doctor had the decency to wear clothes during an examination.