FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Zuma sighed a bit, putting the last of her laundry into the washer. She stood up from her basket as she closed the door and looked around. A laundromat was not ideal, but it was the best she could do right now. The black-footed cat stretched idly, before slotting a card into the machine.

The washer read the chip in her card and displayed the remaining credits on her account.

Sighing, the spotted feline put in the detergent and started the washer up, watching as the display deducted the cost of using the machine from her total. If she could live at headquarters she wouldn't have to put up with this, but that was mostly reserved for the heroes who couldn't pass as regular anthros out of costume. As she snatched her card free of the washer and started to pocket it, something caught her eye.

A tall dog wearing a shirt just a bit too snug for his hefty frame made his way with an empty basket over to the wall of driers. The black Labrador had on torn jeans that hung on snugly to his hips, just sagging a bit, causing the legs to bunch up and partially eclipse his sneakers. His hair was died a vibrant, almost pastel purple, and had been allowed to grow out a bit from the root from how much was black was showing underneath. The purple puff draped over one side of his face, kept out of his eyes by the blue frame of his glasses.

But it was none of these things that had caught the cat's eye. A distinctive color was peeking out from under the hem of the too snug shirt. Zuma knew it well, and focused her eyes on that spot.

The dog reached to open a drier on the top row, reaching in with both arms to scoop the warm fabric free. This motion pulled his shirt up along the curve of his belly.

Zuma stared. Her instinctual reaction, which she'd initially hoped to dismiss, was proven true. This dog had the mark of the supervillain ParaBolt on the side of his belly. It was impossible to mistake. It was two silver line segments that both connected to a third at the bottom and spread out further as they went up away from the base, with three stylized colored arcs of lightning between them; a Jacob's ladder with a red, yellow, and green bolt connecting the two sides. The insignia stood out starkly against the black fur.

As the dog dumped the whole load into his basket, he grasped his hem and tugged the shirt down.

The feline narrowed her eyes and walked away from her machine, stalking right to him. She stopped about a foot away from him and cleared her throat.

The Labrador had gone still as she approached, but acted as though he had only just noticed her as he turned his head far enough for his uncovered eye to look directly at her. "Can I help you with something, miss...?"

"Why do you have that?" Zuma did her best to sound civil in the situation. After all, she was in civilian clothes. She did, however, come off sounding somewhat like a suburban mother demanding something of a barista.

"It's a laundromat?" The dog asked, confused, or at least very convincingly feigning confusion.

"Not the basket, this!" She reached out and grasped the hem of his shirt, tugging up. Right where the insignia had been was just plain black fur. "What? It was just there, I saw it!"

"Uh... Miss, could you not?" The dog asked, maintaining the appearance of confusion and awkwardness, whether it was genuine or not.

Zuma scrunched up her face, ears laying back. She stared at him for a moment before she let go of his shirt, storming back to her own clothes with her tail fluffed up and shaking behind her. It was everything she could do to keep herself moving at a normal person's speed in her frustration. Once she had a moment to herself she'd quick-change then get the answers out of this dog.

Said canine had made his way over to one of the broad tables set to one side and was folding his clothes, gradually transferring them from basket to neat stacks on the table. At this angle, the cat saw his other side.

The black-footed cat hoped he'd raise his arms and turn around or something, just to prove she hadn't just been seeing things. When he finally did, he didn't turn around, but she did spot another marking. This one appeared to be three red leaves, going from small to large from left to right. She recognized this one as well... but it was a hero's mark. She had met Red Scale and he was on the level. What was his mark doing on the same body as ParaVolt's?

Zuma watched the dog for a few more moments, before ducking behind a row of washing machines and tugging out her phone. She tapped 9 twice before holding it down. The speed-dial showed a row of 'x's and it started dialing.

The phone picked up. "What's your situation, Zuma? You didn't report starting a patrol."

"There's this dog that's really suspicious." The spotted cat spoke quietly into her phone, knowing it would cancel out the white noise of the washers around her. "He has ParaVolt's insignia on his stomach, as well as Red Scale's. But they disappeared when h-"

"Drop it, Zuma." Dispatch interrupted.

"What?!" The cat almost shrieked, before dropping her voice. "It's clearly suspicious, why drop it?"

"Taller black dog, purple hair, wears glasses, heavyset?" Dispatch asked patiently.

"Yes, but-" She started, but was again interrupted.

"You do not engage." Dispatch asserted.

Zuma's mind raced. What sort of thing was this dog to be known about at headquarters and also have this response? Was he already under investigation and hero actions might mess up the case? Was he just that powerful that she'd be overwhelmed? Was he just some weird fanboy of supers that was otherwise innocent? "Why, though?"

"You don't harass Safe House." Dispatch snapped, before letting out a groan. The cat could picture the anthro on the other side rubbing his head because he'd said the wrong thing. A name.

"And just who, pray tell, is Safe House...?" Zuma hissed into her phone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Safe House sighed a bit, carrying the last of his laundry up from his car to his apartment. The rotund dog wagged idly as he closed the door behind him, setting the folded clothes onto one side of his couch alongside the other stacks he'd brought up. He returned to the door to lock it, doing the chain and two bolts, before pressing a button on a small panel next to the door. The door glowed for a moment, before fading to its normal appearance. "There, locked. Now, business." The Labrador walked over to a calendar on the wall. Normal appointment things were written on it. He tugged a small flashlight out of his pocket, and turned it on. The faint violet beam illuminated luminous lettering.

"Now Scaley, I heard that the Guild apprehended the rogue assassin that was trailing you two days ago. Are you sure you still want to stay the full week?" The black dog spoke while looking over the calendar, sweeping the black light over it. His eyes had gone distant however, like he was looking through it all.

Safe House nodded after a moment or two, as if responding to an unspoken reply to his question. "Alright. I'm happy to be hospitable for as long as you wish to stay. You're a good guest." He replied in turn, before turning the page of the calendar into the next month and shining the black light at the lettering there. "And what about you, lightning rod? You've got quite the stay planned..."

The Labrador's cell phone chimed from his pocket. "Hold on a sec, Para. Getting an alert..." He tapped his thumb on his phone, letting it read his biometrics before it opened the message. The message was from a series of series of 'x's, a redacted number.

"New querist regarding Safe House. Authorize? Y/N" Attached to the message was an image file. The dog tapped to open it, and found a dossier photo of a masked feline woman, a series of non-concentric circles all travelling through the same point on the right side superimposed at the corner. It was the Insignia this Super used as an identifier, and in the lower right corner was printed the name "Zuma."

Safe House chuckled a bit. He figured he'd be getting a new query soon, but not so immediately. The mask did nothing to disguise that the spotted cat was the same woman who had accosted him in the laundromat. He closed the photo and tapped Y on his phone, before sending the response. "Might be having a new guest soon, everyone." He spoke out into the empty apartment, giving the heft of his belly a soft rub.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zuma clapped her paws with a grunt of exertion. The speed she brought her hands together sent out a wave of force from the point of impact, knocking back the group of goons that had started closing in on her. Not a moment after she'd asked about Safe House to the dispatch, had the voice on the other line redirected her attention to a robbery in progress and told her to deal with that while he authorized her request, whatever that meant.

While the mooks where each unbalanced, she darted out towards the closest. As she moved, her perception of the flow of time ramped up. She skidded on her heel, spinning around and feeding out a length of rigid wire from a hidden spool in her bracer. The cat grasped the henchman's wrists and deftly brought them together behind his back, before wrapping the wire around them both, twisting the ends together, before she bent the ends back on themselves to blunt them. She then prodded a spot on the neck, triggering a reaction where the thug started to scrunch his shoulders up.

The spotted feline continued this, focusing on doing so quickly, but not so quickly as to do any lasting damage to the henchmen she was apprehending. When she came to a stop, the whole group hit the marble floor of the bank's lobby, heads tucked forward and shoulders contracted, protecting them from accidentally striking their heads and leaving them bound.

"Ugh, I fell on my keeeeeys..." One of the Mooks complained.

"Too bad your boss didn't follow you boys in, or I'd have bagged him too." Zuma gloated, putting her fists on her hips.

The hostages around the room applauded, and she soaked it in. "All in a day's work. Now, if you excuse me, I'm sure the police can take it from here." She walked confidently to the bank's doors and opened them up, spotting a police vehicle parking. "Bad guys have their wrists bound, are unharmed. You have plenty of witnesses."

The boar scratched the side of his head. "Well, thank you Ma'am. Usually we have to sit casing exits for a while when a super's engaged."

"Heh, other supers aren't my speed." Zuma winked, and darted off, the world becoming a blur around her.

The cop sighed. "Just hope she was as thorough as she was quick..." He looked off after the streak of color she left in her wake.

His partner laughed. "I heard the first heist she busted up she slapped 'Hello my name is' stickers on the perps' chests with 'Bad Guy' written in sharpie." The cavy adjusted his hat and closed the door on his side of the car. "The Guild's lawyer nearly got the case thrown out for 'planting evidence' on that one..."

Zuma's comm chimed in her earpiece with a slight Doppler effect. She sighed and slipped into an alley before stopping, tapping her collar. "This is Zuma."

"You're authorized to Safe House's dossier, but you have to come into headquarters to read it." Dispatch spoke calmly in her ear, though there was a tone of tiredness to it.

The spotted cat scrunched her muzzle a bit. Right. She'd nearly forgotten in the joy of a job well done. "Oh, is that all? I'll be right in."

True to her word, in seconds she had slipped into the hidden entrance. She rolled her eyes as the second door didn't open immediately. She stood still long enough for the cameras to get a clear shot of her and the chip reader to finish processing her access code. The next frame the cameras captured after the door unlocked was an empty chamber. Shortly after she was seated at a terminal and typing her password in, having to struggle to do so slowly enough for the keystrokes to register.

Zuma breathed deeply, and closed her eyes. She forced herself to let the world catch up to her, so she wouldn't be sitting there staring at a slowly moving progress bar. The black-footed cat opened her eyes, and navigated into her dossiers, and found the new file. She opened it up, and waited, fidgeting, for everything to pop in. Once the file finished loading, her perception of time gradually accelerated again. She scrolled down the page as fast as the computer could refresh, eyes darting through the text. The moment the scrollbar reached bottom, she hit logout and outran the world again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Safe House perked up as his door shook with three knocks that came almost simultaneously. The dog stood up and made his way to the doorway. He peeked through the peephole and smirked. He wondered if it had even been an hour since he left the laundromat, and here she was. The black lab tapped the panel next to the door, a line of light dropping from the ceiling to the ground. He undid the two bolts with a practiced twirl of his wrist and a finger, before grasping the handle and opening, leaving the chain engaged.

"Can I help you with something, Miss?" He affected the precise same tone he'd taken at the laundromat.

Zuma narrowed her eyes behind her mask. "Yes. I have business to discuss. Inside."

Nodding, Safe House closed the door and undid the chain before opening it up. "If you knew to come here, you read the dossier." By the time the door was fully open, the hallway was empty.

The cat's voice came from behind him. "Yeah, yeah I did."

He sighed and closed the door, turning to face her.

Zuma was standing at the calendar, looking over it. "Florescent ink, cute."

"You can read that?" The dog asked, starting to walk towards her.

The spotted feline chuckled, "I went over it with this convenient black light you left on the side table beneath it." She pushed her smug persona firmly against the dog's nonchalant air.

Seemingly unphased, Safe House stood about three feet away from her. "And did you read through it as thoroughly as my dossier?"

"Twelve hours." Zuma shot back, firmly.

"Oh-ho, is that why you're here? I have been told my services are desirable for more than just their utility..." The lab arched his brow and tilted his head a bit. "What do you need to hide from for twelve hours?"

"The world isn't enough?" The feline answered curtly.

"Fair." The dog licked his lips idly. "You read the terms of service, you know the rules. You enter the Safe House knowing this, correct?"

"Yes." She nodded firmly.

"And should I go transfer your laundry too?" Safe House's tail was wagging as he barely hid his amusement with the whole situation. "I'm sure it's ready to be dried by now."

Zuma pursed her lips and scrunched her muzzle, tail flicking behind her. "Fine."

"Better strip down, too." The dog commented idly. "Don't want to have to clean that expensive suit of enzymes and all..." At the way the cat's ears folded back, he chuckled. "Nothing untoward, I assure you. I'm gay." He waved a paw. "Entirely convenience on each of our behalf."

Scrutinizing the heavy canine's expression for a moment, she sighed, and carefully peeled off her mask. He'd already indicated he recognized her from her civilian garb already. She took the earpiece out of her ear as well, setting that on it, and setting both onto the dog's outstretched paw.

Safe House set both items down on the side table next to his calendar. "Now, are you more comfortable going feet first or headfirst?"

Zuma froze, midway through tugging on the zipper on the back of her suit.

"Haven't thought that far ahead, huh?" The dog chuckled.

The way the cat's eyes darted around appeared to the canine as though it were a camera trick, removing frames to speed up the motion. She settled back into normal movement. "Head."

"That's less finicky as well." Safe House waited patiently as she worked herself out of her suit, peeling it off her spotted tawny and black-rosette covered form.

Zuma stepped free of her suit, left in just her sports bra, bike shorts, and some thin socks for cushion against the inside of the suit's built in soles. She fidgeted a bit, draping her suit over the back of the dog's couch. "I don't need to strip any further, do I?"

"Of course not. I'll just need to add those things to a load." The black nodded, and removed his own shirt carefully. "No use in getting this stretched out."

Without a shirt, the spotted feline could see Safe House's full registrar printed across the surface of his slightly sagging midsection, the pelt taut but yielding. The heft shifted with his every movement, taking a long time to settle down from the last wobble whenever he stopped. There were five insignias on his body at that moment, two that she recognized and three she did not.

Zuma cleared her throat. "So... uh, how'd you hide them... in the laundromat?"

The black Labrador simply smirked, holding his arms out from his body, and one by one the insignias faded to nothing but black fur, then came back in a different order than he'd disappeared them. His smirk turned to a grin as they started to blink in and out of being on his belly, in different rhythms, almost appearing like a bizarre memory game or the world's smallest holiday light display. "You said you read my dossier." He teased, tail thwapping around behind him.

"I skimmed it." She huffed. "I understood the parts of material importance to this business arrangement." The black-footed cat averted her eyes.

"All predators who can safely store their meals show some kind of mark on their bodies." Safe House spoke with assured authority without appearing to condescend. "What distinguishes me from all of them is that I have perfect control of how I show that. I can display all or none of my meals. If the League were to take me in for questioning, I could simply disappear any Guild members on my gut, or visa-versa." As he spoke, he made each situation a reality on his stomach, the insignias fading and reappearing accordingly. "That is why I'm the one who can hide people when they need to be hidden."

"Then how come they peek out from under your shirt?" Zuma smirked.

The dog laughed. "It takes effort! I can't show off like this forever. Easier to just cover up with a shirt... and that one was too small. Which is why I was doing laundry." He nodded firmly. "Anyway, the occasional slip-up is how I get new customers a lot of the time..." He licked his lips, "Speaking of..."

The spotted feline's face fell and her ears folded back. This was the first time she truly felt like prey, staring at this unthreatening, seemingly unpowered dog licking his lips at her...

"If you have no other questions, and you understand the rules, it's time to get you hidden," Safe House continued, closing the gap between them. "Then I can go back to the laundromat in something that actually covers my belly." His stomach audibly rumbled, as if aching for food.

She actually jumped at that sound from below. Zuma darted her gaze back to his face, before closing her eyes and exhaling. The dog had a perfect safety rating according to his dossier. No one stayed disappeared. And there were no complaints affixed to the file. She opened her eyes and nodded. "I understand the rules and I am ready."

"Twelve hours. You'll be back in the morning." He planted his large hands on her arms just above the elbows, giving a gentle squeeze. "You fine being let out here or is there somewhere I should take you first?"

"I'm fine here." Zuma nodded, the way her tail flicked behind her belying her nerves.

Safe House nodded, and opened his jaws wide. She had gotten a few glimpses of his tongue, which was as black as his nose, but she wasn't prepared for his gums or his palate, or his throat and tonsils to be just as dark, the only light escaping his maw reflected off the wet surfaces and his well-cared for teeth.

The cat's tail fluffed up a bit as she stared down into that abyss that was taking up more and more of her vision. She wondered why it was happening so slowly, before realizing how fast and shallow her breaths had become. She had automatically revved up in her anxiousness. She exhaled slowly and focused on relaxing, slowing her perception of time until it moved normally again.... And then his jaws closed around her chest and back.

Zuma had been so preoccupied focusing on not prolonging this experience for herself any more than it needed to be that she'd missed her head and shoulders entering the darkness, and only noticed when the sharp teeth lightly brushed through her fur and against the spandex of her sports bra.

'Safe' wasn't in the dog's moniker for nothing. He was extremely delicate handling her, even though she was a well experienced fighter and far more durable than the average civilian. Still, he eased his hands down to grasp her hips, and gently lifted her off her feet, opening his jaws wide again. She felt the teeth leave her body, and then the flesh around her face shifted and slid, while the heat of his body advanced down her waist.

The black-footed cat couldn't help letting out a quiet mrowl as she felt her pelt getting soaked to the skin with dog drool everywhere that had passed the back of his tongue. That tongue, she was surprised to find, wasn't grinding or rubbing against her midsection, seeking out flavor or anything. The only time she felt it move in fact was to drape it between her body and his lower row of teeth when he started to go over a particularly wide part of her body, such as her hips.

Wait, when had he gotten to her hips? Zuma swallowed and scrunched her muzzle as, not a moment after she realized that, her snout bumped up against a snug ring of flesh. She felt the ring spread over her blunt muzzle, and then she was sliding through. This must be the stomach. It welcomed her with a clinging embrace from the pillowy folds of its lining, clinging to her face and sliding along her to make room for every inch that passed the cardia.

Safe House continued to behave professionally, even if that couldn't be said for his stomach. He swallowed at regular intervals, gingerly supporting her legs at the ankles now. The belly let out a merry glrrrrrrn as it continued to stretch to make room for the incoming super.

The feline wondered if she should tell the author of the informational file on enduring consumption how little that had prepared her for the real thing. Zuma curled her toes, bottle-brush fluff of a spotty tail following along with them as they neared the glistening abyss.

The Labrador made sure all three limbs were fully clear of his teeth before he closed his mouth again, his now unoccupied hands moving to steady his belly. He tilted his head back and swallowed again, firmly, sending the last bulges out of his throat and down to add to the mass distending his already portly belly.

Zuma could hardly believe that the chamber that had felt so intent on clinging tightly to her this whole time managed to make enough room for her whole body. The feline reached out and clutched her knees, hugging them to her chest once she was fully inside. Distantly, through layers of flesh and muscle, she could make out the shape of his hands.

This would all be worth it though, if she could find out why ParaBolt was hiding out.

Safe House sighed, and kneaded over his belly gently. "Alright, fully enveloped. Are you ready to enter the proper Safe House?"

Muffled, her voice was just audible. "Yes. Do it."

Practiced in hearing voices coming through his gut, the dog nodded. "Alright. On the count of three. One..."

Zuma closed her eyes. It was safe; it was going to be fine.

"Two..."

Perfect record, everyone comes back.

"Three."

All at once, the walls came crashing in. She'd thought they couldn't press tighter to her in any way, but they managed to... no wait, they went through her.... She was falling down, inexorably into the canine, no sense of her own weight anymore.

The belly had let out an echoing GLORMPH as the mass of the cat in the belly abruptly and suddenly compressed, losing any recognizable shape. At the same time, the dog noticeably grew two inches taller, his pants fitting that much more snugly around his hips, the denim not covering up as much of his sneakers as before. Next to his navel, in white, four non-concentric circles were connected at a spot nearest the belly button. The new insignia shined in its place, indicating she was fully stored.

The black lab walked over to his hall closet and pulled out a plastic shopping bag. He thumped his chest with his left fist, the right hand holding one of the bag's handles. A lump formed in the dog's throat, and he grasped the other handle as well, holding it open as he turned his muzzle towards it. A low, bass belch burst from his lips, carrying out a sports bra, bike shorts, and two socks in sequence.

"Oogh." Safe House licked his lips. "Alright, gotta wash those too. Good thing I'm already going to the laundromat." He chuckled to himself, digging a nice big hoodie out of his clean clothing on the couch.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zuma sat up sharply. She was sitting in a booth in what looked like a night club. Music was playing, but not irritatingly loud. There were other booths lining the walls, and a dancefloor. Across the floor stood a bar with a variety of stools in different sizes. She perked as she noticed the mirrored surface of the divider between booths. There she was in her reflection, fully dressed in her super suit with mask. She felt at the mask curiously.

"Well, I didn't expect to see you here, Zuma."

When the cat looked, there was a red chameleon standing next to her booth. He wearing a snug suit and wearing a helmet that covered the top half of his face, his eyes behind round lenses. However, unlike when she'd met the reptile last, he was a little more than half her height.

"Red Scale, so you are in here." Zuma responded, looking over him.

The lizard chuckled. "As is evident."

Tilting her head a bit, the cat leaned closer. "Why are you so small in here?"

"I never said that the size I use when I'm just walking around is my natural size, did I?" He grinned.

Of course, this made sense. She had seen footage of her fellow hero the size of a skyscraper, and shrinking to microscopic size. If he could choose to be any height, why not be a tall imposing man? "Oh." Zuma flicked her tail and looked away.

Red Scale scooted up into the booth opposite the table from the feline. "You never said why you're in the Safe House, Zuma."

"ParaBolt's in here." She hissed, too intense to be a mere whisper.

"He is, yes." The reptile placed both of his forearms on the table, resting one hand over one fist. "This is neutral ground. You don't start anything."

She wasn't paying attention though, she'd spotted her quarry.

ParaBolt was a tall, handsome capybara with a torso shaped much the same way his insignia's electrodes were angled, which was well shown off by his tight rubber suit. The only places the rubber was broken were metallic studs on his knuckles and exposed steel plates over the toes of his boots, which was where his natural electricity could escape and he could ground himself, respectively.

Zuma was out of the booth and storming her way over to him.

The rodent perked, and turned, his eyes widening as he spotted the heroine who had been angling to be something of an arch-nemesis striding his way. Here, in the Safe House of all places. He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Zuma." He put on his best civil voice, his baritone shaped by his gentle Bolivian accent.

"Evening?" She looked around, unsure what time it was, or even if time in here passed at the same rate as outside. She shook her head and pointed at the capybara. "What are you doing laying low? What did you do?"

Arching his brow beneath the cowl of his mask, ParaBolt tilted his head slightly. "Not to break kayfabe or anything, but I'm defecting to the League. The Guild caught wind and so I'm waiting in here until the League finalizes its decision on my heel-face turn."

"This isn't fucking Wrestling." Zuma seethed.

"Yeah, in wrestling you can get popular being a bad guy." The capybara bandied back dismissively.

The spotted cat scrunched up her muzzle, tail flicking about as her ears folded back. "Fuck off!" She wound back her arms, spread wide, and brought them together, striking her hands together in a mighty clap.

Nothing happened.

As Zuma stared at her hands in disbelief, ParaBolt shrugged. "This isn't technically a physical place. Our powers don't work in here. Another reason it makes a good neutral ground." The capybara sat onto a stool at the bar. "Come on, why don't you have a drink? No hangovers in here either."

"I'll give you a hangover!" The speedster lunged, fist formed, wound back... then she was falling again, mid-punch.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Safe House grunted in surprise at a feeling. He turned to the unoccupied corner of the laundromat and raised the hem of his hoodie up to look down at his belly. The fat distorted, a fist pushing out before being yanked back in by the elastic flesh. The bottom of the gut distended with a pair of feet as a familiar feline face emerged from the curve next to her insignia.

The Labrador sighed. "Rule number one is no fighting, Zuma." He reached his free paw down to rub over the curve of his gut, only for it to be knocked away by a thrashing wobble. He frowned. "Now you just sit in time out and if you promise to behave I might let you back into the club."

In his mind, the dog could hear her frustrated yowling as the surface of his belly stretched and wobbled with clawing marks and elbow strikes, head-butts and kicks. The will of the stored cat was taking control of what adipose she could, even if she didn't realize that was what was happening.

Safe House watched his belly distort against his will bemusedly. "Hard to keep struggling like that when you don't have a body of your own, technically." The black canine commented, before he tugged his hoodie down, hoping it was baggy enough to hide all of that commotion. "I was nearly done folding your laundry, too..." He sighed, turning back to his task.

Thrashing weakening, Zuma wore herself down, having a harder and harder time pushing against the inside of that black pelt. She yowled grumpily and threw her full weight forward, something that caused the hoodie outside to surge forward for a moment, before slumping back down on the dog's soft midsection with a defeated wobble. It was going to be a long twelve hours.