I always wear my tail. I don’t always show if off.
It’s just too problematic sometimes. At work, people say it’s unprofessional. When I’m out, people ask too many awkward questions that I don’t have time to answer.
Most times, it’s tucked into my pants, a slight bulge on the back no one ever notices. Today’s one of those times.
I’m at the zoo, watching my family move around inside of their enclosures. They’re not really my family, I know this, but it doesn’t change how close I feel to them.
My name’s TigerGrowl. I’m a furry, an outcast in my own skin.
That’s not really my name, but it’s one I feel better describes me than my real one. I feel more like those great cats behind the moat than I do the mundanes around me.
I see them move, I feel desire seeping into my muscles, and I know that’s what I’m supposed to be.
Of course people judge me. But I don’t regret anything I’ve ever done to be closer to my fur-self.
Maybe one day people will understand, but until then, I’ll keep my tail hidden away. I know it’s there. That’s all I need.
Memphis is home to one of the largest furry conventions in the United States. Furries are a group of people that feel closer to animals than humans, but not in a bestial way. They dress up in mascot-like costumes or tails and ears and have private names for their fur personas. And believe me when I say they are far from the strangest thing about this city.