FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In an old house, on the outskirts of a sleepy town a husky named Timothy sat hunched over his computer the low hum the only sound other than the patter of the rain on the roof. Timothy was an older husky at 35 his fur was beginning to lose its shine but that might be because his personal appearance had never been important to him, he considered the mountains of scent and shampoo you could buy as a complete waste of money, he had never worked out and had never set foot in a gym but still managed to be fit somehow. Timothy incidentally was also a writer.

The blank screen was hurting his eyes. He was supposed to be writing, but nothing was coming to mind. Timothy just kept scrolling up and down the screen staring at the same small page of writing he had. It was nowhere near where he was supposed to be, to be honest he was supposed to be finished by now. So on top of having no inspiration he had his publisher calling every day to curse his lazy butt for making his life difficult. Timothy honestly didn't care, he had made one of the biggest names for himself in crime mystery novels. He could never write another book again and live in relative comfort, but then what would he do?

He cursed at the blank screen for being so uninspiring and shut the computer off. Timothy leaned back in his chair giving a low moan from his throat, why was writing so hard! He looked out the window and stared at the dismal rain, his whole life was bleak and cold. He kicked back his chair and walked into the kitchen wrapping his arms around his waist in an attempt to stay warm. The whole house was freezing since the heater had never worked in the seven years he had lived here. He opened the fridge moving aside numerous jars of peanut butter trying to find where he put all the food. He found a floppy sandwich stuffed with mayonnaise he could have sworn that he had an actually appetizing meal somewhere in their but he ate the sandwich anyways he didn't feel like making anything anyways he polished off the sandwich and moved into the hallway slumping into his thinking spot, he needed to get around his writers block he needed an actual story.

The minutes passed by quickly to Timothy who was too lost in his own world to even notice the cold. His mind was lost in the space between reality and what he could make reality. But no matter how far he went nothing was sticking discarding his ideas before he even finished them, he didn't like anything he could come up with. He slouched further into the wall as the time went bye. His face becoming more and more dissatisfied. In only an hour he was completely out of ideas. He needed a muse, inspiration! But from where?

Timothy shook his head and got out of his thinking spot it wasn't doing him any good. He walked back into his office he was refusing to accept defeat but he couldn't just stare at his screen. His eyes wandered around his office before they suddenly froze on a single spot. A picture that rested on his desk, it was the only picture on his desk. It was a photo of himself ten years ago at a bar even in the photo he clearly already had one too many, and holding a beer in one hand. But his other hand was slung around the waist of a young Dalmatian he was pretty sure they were both drunk that day but you couldn't tell with the Dalmatian he was clearly looking at the camera, eyes clear face frozen in a laugh. Michael Moore, that was his name he had been the inspiration for Timothy's best novel 'Hit and run.' He used to write him letters try and keep in touch but he had stopped after a while, it had gotten to depressing.... he had never gotten a reply.

He doesn't remember pulling it out but he had a sheet of paper and a pen in his hands, and the words were pouring onto the page.

'Hey Michael,

I haven't written to you in a while. I'm sorry about that, remember when I used to write every week! I wonder now how I found time for that, what on earth did I even write about? My life has never been interesting enough for even the smallest of letters.'

You were always the most interesting thing to happen in my life.

'You never write me back. I know that your new life must be busy. But would it kill you to answer even one of my letters?'

Timothy immediately regretted what he wrote he wanted to take that sentence back. But he couldn't stop his hand from writing.

'I got married. She's nice you would've liked her, great sense of humor and very understanding. She even let me keep your peanut butter.'

"Why do you have so much peanut butter?" Timothy asked, clearly put off at the amount of the stuff crammed into the fridge. Michael came over and looked into the fridge. "I like it."

"Why?"

"Do I need a reason." Michael gave a lopsided grin his head turned to the side. He was always like that sideways. And asking a question like it was a statement.

'Her names Hannah, I think she's a little jealous of you sometimes, but she never says so.'

Not to me anyways. But he saw the way her friends watched him, the Bi guy who was still hung up over the last guy he dated. He was a recipe for relationship disaster. Although that got better the longer he knew her, Hannah knew he loved her. Just not the way he loved Michael.

'I still remember the way you would get me into trouble, you know how much I hate to be the melodramatic writer, but you showed me how to live.'

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Timothy eyed the keep out signs covering the fence his tail firmly stuck between his legs. Michael laughed and leapt the fence in an easy stride, "Come on Tim."

Timothy mumbled under his breath but climbed over the fence awkwardly. His shoe caught in the fence top and he started half hopping trying to get it free. Michael came over and pulled his shoe free his laugh right next to my ear. "What took you so long?" Timothy failed to hide his blush.

'Hannah wants to start a family with me. It's a little scary to think about but I would like a son, someone to do all the things I never did with my Dad. But there really isin't any rooms here for a family, if I got kids I think Hannah would try to make us move. I like this house, remember the day we bought it? You picked it with your eyes closed and refused to change your mind.'

The boxes were piled up in the main room, but Timothy was exhausted they had been moving this junk all day. "Remind me why we can't just throw this stuff away?" He asked leaning in the hallway staring at the boxes like they held the devil. Or at least the devil of back pain.

"Because we actually use this stuff, and almost all of its yours." Michael said as he dropped another box onto the stack. Timothy pouted, "But it's heavy. Can't we take a break?" He reached out and pulled on Michaels shirt dragging him closer. The Dalmation allowed himself to come closer but he was refusing to give in, he had strict work first morals. But Timothy noted with satisfaction that his hands were shaking as he pushed away. "Come on Tim, we can rest later lets just finish this first." Timothy smiled, "Ahh but it is later." He pulled on Michaels shirt again, so that there wasn't any space between them anymore. They didn't finish unpacking until tommorow.

'I suppose change is good and all that. But I really have come to love this house. Even the broken heater is like an old friend now.

The first winter living here they had no idea what to expect and certainly not enough sweaters. They would jump into the bed as soon as they got home buried under every blanket in the house.

Timothy walked out of the house running thru the rain he opened the door to his car and slid into his seat. He hadn't written a letter to Michael in a long time he wanted to give it to him before he lost the nerve.

Timothy heard Michael walking down the hall toward him. "What are you doing?" He asked.

Timothy shrugged, "Thinking." He looked up at Michael from his spot on the hallway floor. "Theres no room anywhere else." Michael sat down next to him, "You know there might have been room if we had unpacked the boxes like I wanted." Timothy just gave him a toothy grin. "I didn't hear you complaining an hour ago." Michael nodded his head sagely "True." He leaned over and kissed him on the lips and he did that thing with his tounge and Uhhhh, brain stopped working. "What are you thinking about know?" Michael asked ten seconds later or maybe an hour later. "I think that this is my new thinking spot." He didn't think in that spot until much later.

Timothy turned the corner trying not to crash in the rain, he hated driving in this kind of weather. But at least he didn't have much farther to go, he made his final turn and parked by the lawn, he tucked the letter into his jacket and made a break for it. He knew he wouldn't have to go far.

'You were my first love Michael. I still miss you.'

He ran across the grass avoiding the stones.

'Write me back this time. Please let me know you heard, I won't ask for much just anything so I know you got this.'

He stopped on the grassy lawn looking down at the stone he used to visit at first every day, but as time went bye less and less. The place they put you in the ground. He met Hannah here, she was just over the hill at her Fathers funeral. And I was putting flowers on your stone a two years after you were gone. She made me smile, I spent your the first year anniversary after your death getting drunk, the second laughing with her. I think you would have preferred that.

He leaned down and put the note on the ground, Timothy wasn't very religious but he sent a prayer with it, he wanted Michael to read this one.

That night he didn't sleep and in the morning he had completed his book, it would soon be called the greatest book he had ever written. Although there was some debate over wether it was a Mystery novel or a Romance novel.

The next day he stared at the sun coming thru the window as Hannah placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thats weird." She commented. "I could've sworn it was raining on the other windows." She walked out of the room talking about strange weather and visual illusions. Timothy just smiled Michael was writing back. "Took you long enough."