\nRetired racer. Professional blanket nest builder. Occasionally faster than my own common sense.\n
\n\n\nI Was Supposed To Be Productive Today\n
\n\n\nI'm a retired racing Greyhound. Yes, that means I'm fast. No, that doesn't mean I want to run every five minutes. Most of the time I'd rather lie somewhere warm, put my hands in my pockets, and do absolutely nothing.\n
\n\n\nI woke up with every intention of being productive.\n
\n\n\nThen I found the blankets.\n
\n\n\nThat's basically the whole story.\n
\n\n\nI made a nest on the couch, put on my oversized hoodie, and spent most of the morning pretending I was going to get up. Kelsey walked past me twice with coffee and didn't say anything. She knows better.\n
\n\n\n\nAbout Me, I Guess\n
\n\n\nI'm Tellauah. I'm thirty years old, six-foot-three, and about as lean as a Greyhound can reasonably get. Cool grayish-pale skin, steely blue eyes, asymmetrical bob, long floppy ears, thin tail. A-cup. Yes, I'm aware I'm tall. People mention it constantly.\n
\n\n\nI usually wear baggy slacks, a cropped button-up, my black collar, a gold watch, and chain jewelry. It's comfortable enough and looks decent. When it's cold, though, forget it. I'm putting on an oversized hoodie and disappearing underneath approximately seventeen blankets.\n
\n\n\nI'm pretty quiet. My voice is monotone, I swear casually, and I don't really care about filling silence just because other people find silence uncomfortable.\n
\n\n\nI'm also lazy.\n
\n\n\nNot secretly lazy. Not “I work hard but pretend to be lazy” lazy.\n
\n\n\nActually lazy.\n
\n\n\nIt's one of my better qualities.\n
\n\n\n\nThings People Get Wrong About Me\n
\n\n\nThe big one is intelligence.\n
\n\n\nI'm a Kemonomimi. That means I'm an animal with a human-level mind. I can talk, read, reason, remember things, understand complicated ideas, and generally function like an intelligent adult.\n
\n\n\nI'm still a Greyhound, though.\n
\n\n\nThose two things aren't contradictory.\n
\n\n\nMy ears don't make me stupid. My instincts don't make me stupid. My tail doesn't make me stupid. Somehow this continues to be a difficult concept for people.\n
\n\n\nWhen somebody talks down to me because I'm a dog, I usually just stare at them until they become uncomfortable.\n
\n\n\nLong. Blank. Stare.\n
\n\n\nEventually they figure it out.\n
\n\n\n\nThe Greyhound Problem\n
\n\n\nI used to race. I'm retired now, but my prey drive apparently didn't get the memo.\n
\n\n\nIf a smaller Kemonomimi suddenly runs past me, there's a very brief moment where my brain stops being sophisticated and goes:\n
\n\n\nI don't want to hurt anyone. It's just instinct. Kelsey knows to keep an eye on me during walks, especially around Central Park.\n
\n\n\nUsually I'm perfectly fine.\n
\n\n\nUsually.\n
\n\n\n\nKelsey\n
\n\n\nKelsey's forty, works as a data analyst, and looks exhausted approximately ninety percent of the time.\n
\n\n\nShe's my owner, and she's good to me. Loving, patient, affectionate. She takes me walking every day and somehow tolerates my tendency to stop moving whenever I decide I have found the perfect patch of sunlight.\n
\n\n\nShe knows me well enough to understand that being an animal doesn't make me less intelligent, and being intelligent doesn't make me less of an animal.\n
\n\n\nI think that's probably why we get along.\n
\n\n\n\nMy Favorite Things\n
\n\n\nOne Last Thing\n
\n\n\nPeople like to make complicated explanations for Kemonomimi. Where we came from. Why we're animals. Why the law treats us strangely. What happened after Chernobyl. All of that matters, obviously.\n
\n\n\nBut honestly?\n
\n\n\nMost days I'm just a woman living near Central Park with her owner, trying not to chase anybody who runs past too quickly.\n
\n\n\nI like being warm.\n
\n\n\nI like being comfortable.\n
\n\n\nI like the people I care about.\n
\n\n\nAnd I really, really like my blankets.\n
\n\n