Tail Cute Quotes

I think zombies are kind of cute.” “Seriously?” “I may be thinking about bunnies. Which one has the fluffy little tail, zombies or bunnies?” “Bunnies.” “Then it’s bunnies I’m thinking of.

From Chapter 1: Isabel went into the kitchen. Their butterball of a beagle wagged his tail and peered up at her with his soulful brown eyes. He was eager to get his reward for looking cute as a button, and he knew she was a pushover.

It was him. He'd traded his coat and tails for jeans and a tight Abercrombie and Fitch tee, but it was him. I would have known him anywhere. I blinked slowly, believing he was a mirage. A very handsome mirage. But I didn't have the power to dream cute boys into life. When he didn't disappear, part of my heart sang and part of it worried that I'd never be the same again... Oh, I never would be the same again.

Werewolves usually have markings that are more doglike than wolflike. I don’t know why. Bran, the Marrok, has a splash of white on his tail, as though he’d dipped it in a bucket of paint. I think it’s cute—but I’d never had the nerve to tell him so.

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard. Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound. A sound you could smell. This man worked for the carnival,you dig? And to start with it was like a novelty ventriloquist act. After a while, the ass started talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared... and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time. Then it developed sort of teethlike... little raspy incurving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it... but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street... shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags. Nobody loved it. And it wanted to be kissed, same as any other mouth. Finally, it talked all the time, day and night. You could hear him for blocks, screaming at it to shut up... beating at it with his fists... and sticking candles up it, but... nothing did any good, and the asshole said to him... "It is you who will shut up in the end, not me... "because we don't need you around here anymore. I can talk and eat and shit." After that, he began waking up in the morning with transparentjelly... like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands... like burning gasoline jelly and grow there. So, finally, his mouth sealed over... and the whole head... would have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes, you dig? That's the one thing that the asshole couldn't do was see. It needed the eyes. Nerve connections were blocked... and infiltrated and atrophied. So, the brain couldn't give orders anymore. It was trapped inside the skull... sealed off. For a while, you could see... the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes. And then finally the brain must have died... because the eyes went out... and there was no more feeling in them than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk.

The antiques in the window were especially cute, wrestling with each other and playfully snapping at each other’s tails.

Eliza sitting naked on a pink towel. So beautiful I could die. Concentrating, all focused in on her sketchbook, but aw, god ...her tail. Her cute little tail moving slowly back and forth, making a fan shape in the dirt. She's the one. She really is. I know that now.

Suz, carrying Savich's plate, the scrambled eggs steaming, stopped to stare after Rachael. 'Isn't this par for the course--a sexy guy with two girls--I'll just bet the little readhead here threatened to whomp the blonde with that cute braid, right?' 'You're very observant, Suz,' Savich said. Sherlock rolled her eyes.

A couple of what?” Calvin asked, genuinely perplexed. Ethan chuckled. “You’re cute.” He kissed the tip of Calvin’s nose. “You know. A couple, in a relationship. Boyfriends.” Calvin

When the second hour of Fiji’s open house was almost at an end, a mother from Davy said, “How on earth do you get it to look like the cat is talking?” “Oh, did it look realistic?” Fiji had to struggle to keep a smile on her face. “It was so cute! It said, ‘Get off my tail or I’ll smother you in your sleep.’” “Just some batteries and a CD!” Fiji said. “And isn’t that just what a cat should say?

Its back was to him, showing broad shoulders armored in bark and stone, black as night, and a thick mane cascading down its spine to a short deer-tail. For a moment all he could do was stare at the tail and think, Nothing on a Great Spirit should be that cute.

Please, please don’t touch it, it will keep you captive for about two days if you do. There’s little creatures running around in the city that look like furry eggs with tails called Fuzzies. They’re perfectly harmless, cute little fluffballs that get into everything. And I do mean everything. Safeguard your snacks carefully.

It’s no mischief much while she’s a little un; but an over-’cute woman’s no better nor a long-tailed sheep,—she’ll fetch none the bigger price for that.

Annie patted the dog’s head. He wagged his tail. “He’s so cute,” she said. “He looks like a little teddy bear. Hi, Teddy.

Donkeys...I've decided that donkeys are universally cute. Really cute. So cute that donkeys defy any arguments of preferences being relative. When you pet their noses, they blink their eyes and bashfully look away as if embarrassed. And when donkeys hee-haw, they have their mouths and lips curled up as if they are smiling. Boyfriend and girlfriend donkeys rest their heads on each other's rumpt and fan each other's faces with their tails. And kid donkeys, the size of an average dog, trot around with big smiles on their faces and floppy, dangly, long donkey ears. Too cute.

She lifted the tails of his elegant silk evening shirt. “Some that don’t reach my knees?” He cleared his throat. He liked her wrapped in his shirt, surrounded by him. “Well, actually, as Joshua knows, that is one of your annoying habits. You like to run around in my shirts. You think they are much more comfortable than your own clothes.” Alexandria regarded him with wide blue eyes. “Oh, I do, do I? I take it you grumble about it.” “Often, to Josh. We laugh together about the idiosyncrasies of women. He thinks you look cute in my shirts.” “And what would give a little boy an idea like that?” He looked unrepentant. “I might have mentioned it a time or two.” His golden eyes slid over her body, making her aware of her bare skin beneath his shirt, of every curve of her body, of the fact that they were completely alone in some secret chamber of his home. “It is true, after all. You do look cute in my shirt.

Everyone's here except for St. Clair." Meredith cranes her neck around the cafeteria. "He's usually running late." "Always," Josh corrects. "Always running late." I clear my throat. "I think I met him last night. In the hallway." "Good hair and an English accent?" Meredith asks. "Um.Yeah.I guess." I try to keep my voice casual. Josh smirks. "Everyone's in luuurve with St. Clair." "Oh,shut up," Meredith says. "I'm not." Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend. He lets go of her hand and gives an exaggerated sigh. "Well,I am. I'm asking him to prom. This is our year, I just know it." "This school has a prom?" I ask. "God no," Rashmi says. "Yeah,Josh. You and St. Clair would look really cute in matching tuxes." "Tails." The English accent makes Meredith and me jump in our seats. Hallway boy. Beautiful boy. His hair is damp from the rain. "I insist the tuxes have tails, or I'm giving your corsage to Steve Carver instead." "St. Clair!" Josh springs from his seat, and they give each other the classic two-thumps-on-the-back guy hug. "No kiss? I'm crushed,mate." "Thought it might miff the ol' ball and chain. She doesn't know about us yet." "Whatever," Rashi says,but she's smiling now. It's a good look for her. She should utilize the corners of her mouth more often. Beautiful Hallway Boy (Am I supposed to call him Etienne or St. Clair?) drops his bag and slides into the remaining seat between Rashmi and me. "Anna." He's surprised to see me,and I'm startled,too. He remembers me. "Nice umbrella.Could've used that this morning." He shakes a hand through his hair, and a drop lands on my bare arm. Words fail me. Unfortunately, my stomach speaks for itself. His eyes pop at the rumble,and I'm alarmed by how big and brown they are. As if he needed any further weapons against the female race. Josh must be right. Every girl in school must be in love with him. "Sounds terrible.You ought to feed that thing. Unless..." He pretends to examine me, then comes in close with a whisper. "Unless you're one of those girls who never eats. Can't tolerate that, I'm afraid. Have to give you a lifetime table ban." I'm determined to speak rationally in his presence. "I'm not sure how to order." "Easy," Josh says. "Stand in line. Tell them what you want.Accept delicious goodies. And then give them your meal card and two pints of blood." "I heard they raised it to three pints this year," Rashmi says. "Bone marrow," Beautiful Hallway Boy says. "Or your left earlobe." "I meant the menu,thank you very much." I gesture to the chalkboard above one of the chefs. An exquisite cursive hand has written out the morning's menu in pink and yellow and white.In French. "Not exactly my first language." "You don't speak French?" Meredith asks. "I've taken Spanish for three years. It's not like I ever thought I'd be moving to Paris." "It's okay," Meredith says quickly. "A lot of people here don't speak French." "But most of them do," Josh adds. "But most of them not very well." Rashmi looks pointedly at him. "You'll learn the lanaguage of food first. The language of love." Josh rubs his belly like a shiny Buddha. "Oeuf. Egg. Pomme. Apple. Lapin. Rabbit." "Not funny." Rashmi punches him in the arm. "No wonder Isis bites you. Jerk." I glance at the chalkboard again. It's still in French. "And, um, until then?" "Right." Beautiful Hallway Boy pushes back his chair. "Come along, then. I haven't eaten either." I can't help but notice several girls gaping at him as we wind our way through the crowd.

He looks at me incredulously. "Cute little kitty cat tail?" "Yeah. It's adorable." I say, watching it flit back and forth behind him. "Can I pet it?" He makes a weird chocking sound. "Whoa. Are you gonna have a fit or something?" "I... you..." "What? Is petting your tail like a no-go? I haven't read the genfin rulebook. Is it off-limits? Too bad. It looks so soft. Maybe when I get out of here, I'll find some other genfin who will let me pet his tail. Or I bet Evert will let me pet his.

Yet despite its current usage, the @ is not a product of the digital age, and may be almost as old as the ampersand. It had been associated with trade for many centuries, known as an *amphora* or jar, a unit of measurement. Most countries have their own term for it, often linked to food (in Hebrew it is *shtrudl*, meaning strudel, in Czech it is *zavinac* or rollmop herring) or to cute animals (*Affenschwanz* or monkey's tail in German, *snabel-a* meaning "the letter a, with a trunk," in Danish, *sobaka* or dog in Russian,), or both (*escargot* in French).

Swan had used them to send Sophie messages. He fished out the tiny velvet pouch and Sophie caught herself clutching her allergy remedy necklace. She still kept the silver moonlark pin that Calla had given her attached to the cord—a reminder of the friend she’d lost, and a symbol of the role she needed to figure out how to play. “Looks like we’re good,” Sandor said, handing her the small boobrie pin—a strange black bird with bright yellow tail feathers. “Can’t imagine that means anything important.” Sophie couldn’t either. Especially since the Black Swan had been annoyingly silent. No notes. No clues. No answers during their brief meetings. Apparently they were “regrouping.” And it was taking forever. At least the Council was doing something—setting up goblin patrols and trying to arrange an ogre Peace Summit. The Black Swan should at least be . . . Actually, Sophie didn’t know what they should be doing. That was the problem with having her friend join the enemy. “There you are!” a familiar voice said behind her. “I was starting to think you’d ditched us.” The deep, crisp accent was instantly recognizable. And yet, the teasing words made Sophie wish she’d turn and find a different boy. Fitz looked as cute as ever in his red Level Five uniform, but his perfect smile didn’t reach his trademark teal eyes. The recent revelations had been a huge blow for all of her friends, but Fitz had taken it the hardest. Both his brother and his best friend had run off with the Neverseen. Alvar’s betrayal had made Fitz wary—made him doubt every memory. But Keefe’s?

He’d taken the dog home that night, just calling him the name of the product as a stopgap, even though I’d told my dad in no uncertain terms not to do this, in case the dog got attached to it. Which of course he did, so now we were stuck with it. And while my first instinct was to be mad about the fact that I hadn’t had a dog my whole childhood, and that my dad got one basically the second I was out of the house, I was just so won over by his cute face and high-pitched bark and whappy tail, it was impossible to be mad. The dog was so cute that with all the updates and pictures I was getting, it had taken all my self-control not to clean out my savings and book a flight home immediately to cuddle him. But my dad assured me that he would be there waiting for me when I came home for Christmas. And when I’d finally met him three days earlier, Zyrtec the dog had more than lived up to expectations.

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard. This ass talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell. This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first. He had a number he called “The Better ‘Ole” that was a scream, I tell you. I forget most of it but it was clever. Like, “Oh I say, are you still down there, old thing?” “Nah I had to go relieve myself.” After a while the ass start talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time. Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him: “It’s you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we dont need you around here any more. I can talk and eat and shit.” After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole’s tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneous — (did you know there is a condition occurs in parts of Africa and only among Negroes where the little toe amputates spontaneously?) — except for the eyes you dig. Thats one thing the asshole couldn’t do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn’t give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes went out, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab’s eyes on the end of a stalk.

I shoot up out of my chair. “It’s Bree. Hide the board!” Everyone hops out of their chairs and starts scrambling around and bumping into each other like a classic cartoon. We hear the door shut behind her, and the whiteboard is still standing in the middle of the kitchen like a lit-up marquee. I hiss at Jamal, “Get rid of it!” His eyes are wide orbs, head whipping around in all directions. “Where? In the utensil drawer? Up my shirt?! There’s nowhere! That thing is huge!” “LADY IN THE HOUSE!” Bree shouts from the entryway. The sound of her tennis shoes getting kicked off echoes around the room, and my heart races up my throat. Her name is pasted all over that whiteboard along with phrases like “first kiss—keep it light” and “entwined hand-holding” and “dirty talk about her hair”. Yeah…I’m not sure about that last one, but we’ll see. Basically, it’s all laid out there—the most incriminating board in the world. If Bree sees this thing, it’s all over for me. “Erase it!” Price whispers frantically. “No, we didn’t write it down anywhere else! We’ll lose all the ideas.” I can hear Bree’s footsteps getting closer. “Nathan? Are you home?” “Uh—yeah! In the kitchen.” Jamal tosses me a look like I’m an idiot for announcing our location, but what am I supposed to do? Stand very still and pretend we’re not all huddled in here having a Baby-Sitter’s Club re-enactment? She would find us, and that would look even worse after keeping quiet. “Just flip it over!” I tell anyone who’s not running in a circle chasing his tail. As Lawrence flips the whiteboard, Price tells us all to act natural. So of course, the second Bree rounds the corner, I hop up on the table, Jamal rests his elbow on the wall and leans his head on his hand, and Lawrence just plops down on the floor and pretends to stretch. Derek can’t decide what to do so he’s caught mid-circle. We all have fake smiles plastered on. Our acting is shit. Bree freezes, blinking at the sight of each of us not acting at all natural. “Whatcha guys doing?” Her hair is a cute messy bun of curls on the top of her head and she’s wearing her favorite joggers with one of my old LA Sharks hoodies, which she stole from my closet a long time ago. It swallows her whole, but since she just came from the studio, I know there is a tight leotard under it. I can barely find her in all that material, and yet she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Just her presence in this room feels like finally getting hooked up to oxygen after days of not being able to breathe deeply. We all respond to Bree’s question at the same time but with different answers. It’s highly suspicious and likely what makes her eyes dart to the whiteboard. Sweat gathers on my spine. “What’s with the whiteboard?” she asks, taking a step toward it. I hop off the table and get in her path. “Huh? Oh, it’s…nothing.” She laughs and tries to look around me. I pretend to stretch so she can’t see. “It doesn’t look like nothing. What? Are you guys drawing boobies on that board or something? You look so guilty.” “Ah—you caught us! Lots of illustrated boobs drawn on that board. You don’t want to see it.” She pauses, a fading smile hovering on her lips, and her eyes look up to meet mine. “For real—what’s going on? Why can’t I see it?” She doesn’t believe my boob explanation. I guess we should take that as a compliment? My eyes catch over Bree’s shoulder as Price puts himself out of her line of sight and begins miming the action of getting his phone out and taking a picture of the whiteboard. This little show is directed at Derek, who is standing somewhere behind me. Bree sees me watching Price and whips her head around to catch him. He freezes—hands extended looking like he’s holding an imaginary camera. He then transforms that into a forearm stretch. “So tight after our workout today.” Her eyes narrow.

5236 rue St. Urbain The baby girl was a quick learner, having synthesized a full range of traits of both of her parents, the charming and the devious. Of all the toddlers in the neighbourhood, she was the first to learn to read and also the first to tear out the pages. Within months she mastered the grilling of the steaks and soon thereafter presented reasons to not grill the steaks. She was the first to promote a new visceral style of physical comedy as a means of reinvigorate the social potential of satire, and the first to declare the movement over. She appreciated the qualities of movement and speed, but also understood the necessity of slowness and leisure. She quickly learned the importance of ladders. She invented games with numerous chess-boards, matches and glasses of unfinished wine. Her parents, being both responsible and duplicitous people, came up with a plan to protect themselves, their apartment and belongings, while also providing an environment to encourage the open development of their daughter's obvious talents. They scheduled time off work, put on their pajamas and let the routines of the apartment go. They put their most cherished books right at her eye-level and gave her a chrome lighter. They blended the contents of the fridge and poured it into bowls they left on the floor. They took to napping in the living room, waking only to wipe their noses on the picture books and look blankly at the costumed characters on the TV shows. They made a fuss for their daughter's attention and cried when she wandered off; they bit or punched each other when she out of the room, and accused the other when she came in, looking frustrated. They made a mess of their pants when she drank too much, and let her figure out the fire extinguisher when their cigarettes set the blankets smoldering. They made her laugh with cute songs and then put clothes pins on the cat's tail. Eventually things found their rhythm. More than once the three of them found their faces waxened with tears, unable to decide if they had been crying, laughing, or if it had all been a reflex, like drooling. They took turns in the bath. Parents and children--it is odd when you trigger instinctive behaviour in either of them--like survival, like nurture. It's alright to test their capabilities, but they can hurt themselves if they go too far. It can be helpful to imagine them all gorging on their favourite food until their bellies ache. Fall came and the family went to school together.

Sometimes our need clouds our ability to develop perspective. Being needy is kind of like losing your keys. You become desperate and search everywhere. You search in places you know damn well what you are looking for could never be. The more frantic you become in trying to find them the less rational you are in your search. The less rational you become the more likely you'll be searching in a way that actually makes finding what you want more difficult. You go back again and again to where you want them to be, knowing that there is no way in hell that they are there. There is a lot of wasted effort. You lose perspective of your real goal, let's say it's go to the grocery store, and instead of getting what you need -nourishment, you frantically chase your tail growing more and more confused and angry and desperate. You are mad at your keys, you are mad at your coat pockets for not doing their job. You are irrational. You could just grab the spare set, run to the grocery store and get what you need, have a sandwich, calm down and search at your leisure. But you don't. Where ARE your keys?! Your desperation is skewing your judgement. But you need to face it, YOUR keys are not in HIS pocket. You know your keys are not there. You have checked several times. They are not there. He is not responsible for your keys. You are. He doesn't want to be responsible for your keys. Here's the secret: YOU don't want to be responsible for your keys. If you did you would be searching for them in places they actually have a chance of being. Straight boys don't have your keys. You have tried this before. They may have acted like they did because they wanted you to get them somewhere or you may have hoped they did because you didn't want to go alone but straight boys don't have your keys. Straight boys will never have your keys. Where do you really want to go? It sounds like not far. If going somewhere was of importance you would have hung your keys on the nail by the door. Sometimes it's pretty comfortable at home. Lonely but familiar. Messy enough to lose your keys in but not messy enough to actually bother to clean house and let things go. Not so messy that you can't forget about really going somewhere and sit down awhile and think about taking a trip with that cute guy from work. Just a little while longer, you tell yourself. His girlfriend can sit in the backseat as long as she stays quiet. It will be fun. Just what you need. And really isn't it much safer to sit there and think about taking a trip than accepting all the responsibility of planning one and servicing the car so that it's ready and capable? Having a relationship consists of exposing yourself to someone else over and over, doing the work and sometimes failing. It entails being wrong in front of someone else and being right for someone too. Even if you do find a relationship that other guy doesn't want to be your chauffeur. He wants to take turns riding together. He may occasionally drive but you'll have to do some too. You will have to do some solo driving to keep up your end of the relationship. Boyfriends aren't meant to take you where you want to go. Sometimes they want to take a left when you want to go right. Being in a relationship is embarking on an uncertain adventure. It's not a commitment to a destination it is just a commitment to going together. Maybe it's time to stop telling yourself that you are a starcrossed traveler and admit you're an armchair adventurer. You don't really want to go anywhere or you would venture out. If you really wanted to know where your keys were you'd search in the most likely spot, down underneath the cushion of that chair you've gotten so comfortable in.

Even when behaviors are clearly stress-related, they can be difficult to interpret. Mel Richardson was once asked to examine a tree kangaroo at the San Antonio Zoo that the keepers said was acting bizarrely. With the ears of a teddy bear, the rounded chub of a koala, and the tail of a fuzzy monkey, tree kangaroos are very cute. But this female was acting vicious. She was attacking her babies, and the keepers had no idea why. Mel went to check on her. Sure enough, as soon as he approached, the kangaroo ran to her babies and started hitting and clawing at them with her paws. He stepped back, and she stopped. He walked forward, and she ran at the babies again. “I realized,” said Mel, “that she wasn’t viciously attacking her babies at all. She was trying to pick them up off the floor, but her little paws weren’t meant for that. In her native Australia and Papua New Guinea her babies never would have been on the ground. Her whole family would have been up in the trees.” The mother kangaroo wanted to move the babies away from the humans. What looked like abnormal attacks on her young were actually her way of trying to protect them. Her behavior wasn’t mental illness at all but a response to the stress of being a mother in an unnatural environment. After the keepers redesigned the kangaroos’ cage so that more of it was elevated and farther from the door, she relaxed and stopped hitting her babies. Mel explained, “As flippant as it might sound, the truth is that in order to know what’s abnormal, you must first know what’s normal. In this case in order to determine pathology, I had to understand the animal’s psychology. It’s pretty easy for people to get this wrong.

You’re kind of cute,” he said with a handsome smirk. “If I had a tail, I’d wag it.” “Leave my friend alone, Denver,” Lexi scolded. “I don’t wear a leash,” he replied.

Kevin chuckled and walked over to his bike. He put up the kickstand and grabbed the handles. It was time to head home. “Nya.” Blink. “Nya?” “Nya.” Blink. Blink. Kevin looked at the wall near the distribution building—and nearly squealed upon spotting the small, cute, adorably furry animal sitting on its haunches. A black cat with big yellow eyes stared at him. Its tail swayed behind it, moving left, then right. It opened its mouth, releasing another one of those utterly endearing, if unusual, “nya” sounds. This cat reminds me of the one that I took home with me when I was in elementary school. It even nyas. How cool is that? “Kitty!” Like a child who’d just seen a new toy on Christmas Day, Kevin dropped his bike and went over to the cat, whose large incandescent orbs had yet to leave his face. He reached the feline in record time, and his hand was quick to descend upon its head. The cat didn’t seem to mind. Indeed, it reveled in the attention, purring as he gently scratched behind its left ear, which twitched with minute movements.

Press “Body sheet 1” and take a screenshot (If your Oc has a tail or is holding something, also take a screenshot of “Body sheet 2”); Go to Ibis Paint X; Separate all of the body parts into different layers, then press “Save layer as transparent PNG” on all of them; Now go to “Cute Cut”; Press the plus (+) symbol in the top left; Tap “Create”; Select the same neon green I showed you earlier as the background colour; Choose “Done”; Tap another plus (+) symbol; Select “Photo” and click the hair screenshot; Tap the plus underneath and again press “Photo”; Now select the body screenshot; Keep on doing this until you have the whole Oc done; Double tap the hair screenshot and position it; Do this with the rest of the body parts until the Oc looks good;

Colors and Designs - Trends for Toddlers - Motheringo The summer collections this year are flooded with all the bright colors perfect for the summer look. Offering miscellaneous colors from blues and pinks to corals and mints, the basic colors of black and white would never go out of style. The clothing is enhanced with the use of multiple textures, animal prints, and graphics, from the sparkly sequins to the knits, velvets, and denims, making sure your little one is dressed in a convenient yet trendiest of attires. Another element of cuteness that is enchantingly loved by the young toddlers are the intricate yet bold appliques of characters and graphics on the shirts and dresses. From having the ears or tail protruding out, or the frills with a 3-D texture, young kids are fond of such sensory elements in their apparel.

Cardan's clothes are disarranged from crawling under tables or being captured and tied, and his infamous tail is showing under the white lawn of his shirt. It it slim, nearly hairless, with a tuft of black fur at the tip. As I watch, the tail forms one wavering curve after another snaking back and forth, betraying his cool face, telling its own story of uncertainty and fear. I can see why he hides that thing away.

When cats are in a bad mood, they thrash their tails back and forth - so it’s a good idea to leave her alone!

I could see Rachel well enough, though. We were made from the same rat's DNA, so we were basically the same rat. I could see her long, naked, pink tale. That tail is the reason people hate rats, but think squirrels are cute.

Puppies!” she exclaimed. “Oh, they’re so cute and fluffy!” Ember slowly turned around to look at Nautilus, growling. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Nautilus was trembling, his eyes covered by his webbed paws. Ember wasn’t finished. “From the way you were screeching, I thought Queen Tempest was pulling your fur off,” he snapped. “What in the world is wrong with you?” Nautilus was too panicked to speak. He could hardly breathe. Aurora lowered herself to match the pups’ adorable height. “Hi, little ones,” she began. “Are your parents somewhere around here? Can you take us to them, please?” They remained silent. Then, in unison, they smiled. They had biggest, sharpest fangs she had ever seen. The pups lunged! Aurora and Ember were dragged to the ground. Aurora shrieked as one gnawed her leg. She hurriedly shook him away. There was no time to celebrate. Another pup poked her in the eye, laughing sadistically. “Gah!” Ember exclaimed, as he was buried under puppy fluff. Aurora quickly suffered the same fate. The light of the sun was snatched from her. This is an adorable nightmare! she thought. What is wrong with these little monsters? Ow! Did someone just bite my tail? The grown wolves were soon pinned by the village pups. Their faces were pressed into the ground. Aurora spat out a mouthful of sand. Yuck! “Can we eat them?” asked the pup squashing Ember’s face.

The dark object stepped out of the bushes’ shades to reveal a young rabbit-like creature. He was light brown, with long and wide large ears, skinny long legs, an agile body, large yellow eyes, and a fuzzy small tail. “You are a cute bunny!!” said Nader. “I’m not a bunny! I am he, the most fearless, the bravest, and most courageous, Shuja’ , the Arabian hare,

HIPPOCAMPUS The Hippocampus is described as a horse-like creature with the tail of a fish.

CÙ-SÌTH The Cù-sìth is a legendary member of Scottish folklore, known for its braided tail, menacing dog-like features, and its strong physique.

KITSUNE Known as the Japanese nine-tailed fox, the Kitsune is identified as a trickster with paranormal abilities and extreme intelligence.

The natives started their trek to the village and the bus followed slowly. No one saw any lions, but Butubu pointed out graceful elands and kudus. They resembled American deer but their horns were quite different. Those of the elands were long and straight and pointed slightly backwards. The kudus’ rose straight up from the forehead and curved in such a way that from a distance they resembled snakes. Suddenly Butubu stopped the bus. “Look!” he said, pointing toward a tree-shaded area. “There’s a family of hyrax. In Africa we call them dassies.‘” “Aren’t they cute?” Bess exclaimed. “Are they some kind of rabbit?” “No,” Butubu replied. “If you will look closely, you will see that they have no tails. People used to think they belonged to the rat family. But scientists made a study of their bodies and say their nearest relatives are the elephants.” “Hard to believe,” said Burt. “Think of a rabbit-sized elephant!” The small, dark-brown animals were sunning themselves on an outcropping of rocks. Three babies were hopping about their mother. Butubu explained that they were among the most interesting African animals. “The babies start walking around within a few minutes of their birth and after the first day they’re on their own. They return to the mother only long enough to be fed, but they start eating greens very quickly.” Butubu drove on but continued to talk about the dassies. “There is an amusing folk tale about these little animals. It was said that in the days when the earth was first formed and animals were being put on it, the weather was cold and rainy. ”When all the animals were called to a certain spot to be given tails, the dassie did not want to go. As other kinds passed him, he begged them to bring him back a tail.“ Nancy laughed. “But none of them did.” “That is right,” Butubu answered. “And so to this day they have no tails that they can use to switch flies.” Everyone in the bus thanked him for relating the charming little legend, then looked out the windows. They were approaching a village of grass-roofed huts. The small homes were built in a semicircle.

There was a twenty-five-dollar gift card to the pet store the bag was from. I smiled and tucked the gift card in my pocket and looked down at my dog. “She got you a present.” He wagged his tail.

Appearance: A ridiculously cute rabbit/cat hybrid, with massive furry ears like little wings. Soft, calico-patterned fur with prominent white. Blue cat eyes with hints of crystal structure. Long whiskers. Can hop or walk around but can sit upright with big hind feet. Bushy tail. Purrs.

He stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Ashanti pose in an airy, soft peach dress with a crown of colorful flowers propped on her head. Duchess looked as if she had been made for the camera in her matching peach tutu. Even a non-dog lover like him couldn't deny that she was cute with her flower crown askew on her head and her stubby tail wagging like a flag in a windstorm.

By far the most well known–and star of the Macy’s parade–is the original Pikachu. Created to resemble a cute mouse, Pikachu has been at the center of the Pokemon story since it first began. As the first Pokemon character introduced, and the story’s hero’s–Ash-  personal pet, Pikachu is recognized world wide as an iconic symbol of the franchise. The popularity of Pikachu has more to do with his cute persona and likeable personality. Although he was first portrayed as somewhat of a rogue, disobeying trainer Ash and outwardly harming him, his character has evolved over the years to where his sweet personality matches the cute mouse face. All Pokemon are classified by type, depending on the special powers and characteristics they possess. In the case of Pikachu, he/she is an electric Pokemon, who zaps his enemies with bolts of electricity. Not by accident, the creators developed Pikachu to have a tail shaped like a lightening bolt, to further his identity. Pikachu

I’ve been lumbered with this great lug of dog through a friend of a friend for a couple of months and he has some ...behavioural problems I need to manage ASAP.” “Really?” Her gaze switched to Tiny who wagged his tail looking completely angelic. Ryder could have sworn the damn mutt was smiling. “Look at you, you gorgeous boy,” she crooned, unlatching a section of the counter, lifting it up and ducking through it to join him on the other side. Tiny wagged his tail harder as Juliet approached, one hand held out in friendly greeting. Tiny, whose head came to her breasts, took full advantage, nosing her right in the cleavage as the woman slid her hands on either side of his face and cooed at him. “You are adorable, aren’t you?” Tiny licked, actually licked, her cleavage then shot a shit eating grin in Ryder’s direction. If the dog had eyebrows, one of them would be arrogantly cocked. Ryder blinked. The damn animal had more game than him. “Are you sure?” She leaned forward to drop some kisses between Tiny’s eyes, pushing his snout even further into the cushioned heaven between her breasts. “He seems very placid.” Tiny’s gave an ecstatic little shiver, his tail a blur as it dusted the floor. “Trust me. He’s the antichrist.” “Oh I don’t believe that,” she said to Tiny, her voice light and teasing, her mouth a cute little moue. “Look how sweet and well behaved he is. Good boy.” She kissed him again. “Good boy.” Ryder would be sweet and well behaved if Juliet called him a good boy while cradling his head between her breasts. Hell, he’d roll over and play dead if she wanted.

Why bother? Why in the world would I need a new man in my life at this time? Such foolishness. I might get a dog, though, one of those cute Shih Tzus or a Pomeranian. Their messes are easier to dispose of than those of men, who are sloppier. I would have my dog neutered, though, so I wouldn’t have to deal with those foolish impulses when another dog strolls by and they do that silly tail sniffing. How gross.

Kneeling down next to an article of clothing, Kevin looked up to see Christine a few feet away, gathering up one of her extravagant lolita dresses. Looking at her like this, the girl really did look cute, like a fragile porcelain doll. As he continued to watch her, his eyes landed on the black choker around her neck. “Isn’t that the choker that I bought you for your birthday a while back?” Kevin asked. Christine paused in her work. Her hand went to her choker. “A-ah, um, yes, it is. I… well, this is my… my favorite choker, so I like to wear it a lot…” Christine’s cheeks flushed once more, but she at least didn’t seem to be blowing her top. “After you, Iris, and Lilian left, I was really lonely. I hadn’t realized how important all of you were to me until you were gone. Ever since that day, ever since you three went off to Greece, I’ve taken to wearing this, because it reminded me of all the good times we’ve shared together.” That was probably the most honest thing he’d ever heard Christine say since she’d confessed her feelings for him. He’d noticed it before, but Christine really was a tsundere. She rarely ever told anyone what she was really thinking, and she covered up her embarrassment with bluster and violence. Moments like this were rare for her. He could count the number of times where she’d been honest with her feelings on one hand and still have fingers left over. “I’m sorry we left you like that,” Kevin apologized. Christine shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. I know that you didn’t have much of a choice. Had you not left, then…” Then he, Lilian, and Iris would have put everyone in danger. Back then, Lilian had been targeted by the Shénshèng Clan. One of its members, a three-tailed kitsune named Fan had attacked them during Lindsay’s soccer game. Iris had nearly been killed and Kevin had destroyed an entire school building just to defeat Fan. Christine had been there when it happened, so she understood why they had to leave. “Thank you for being so understanding,” he said. Christine quickly turned her back to him. “T-there’s no need to thank me. We’re friends. I-I was only doing what any good friend would do.” Tsundere until the end, Kevin thought with an amused chuckle. “Then, Christine, I’m very glad that you’re my friend.” Christine squeaked. As she sputtered incoherently, Kevin finally grabbed the article that he’d been kneeling over. Blinking when he realized that it felt different than everything else that he’d picked up thus far, he held the article up to study it. “What is this…?” He trailed off. The object in his hands… was Christine’s panties. “Uh…” Kevin could hear his brain sizzling. “W-what are you doing, idiot!? Don’t stare at those!” Christine leapt at him, and Kevin, too shocked by the object in his hands to do anything, let her tackle him to the ground. The panties were thrown from his hands as his back slammed into the floor. Spots appeared in his vision, but they were soon replaced by Christine’s face, which hovered not two inches from his own. Their noses were almost touching. “C-Christine?” He felt his eyes widen as Christine’s face inched a little closer to his. This was bad. This was a very bad situation. Christine was straddling him, and he could feel her thighs touching him, and her body was pressed against him, and… and… Oh, no… Perhaps it was the result of him still being horny because Christine had interrupted him and Lilian while they were having sex, but Kevin felt his arousal skyrocket. Christine felt it, too, because her eyes went even wider and she looked down. He also looked down. Then he looked back up. Their eyes met. Christine’s face was the brightest blue that he’d ever seen. “I can explain this,” Kevin said calmly. “KYA!” The sound of Christine’s scream was followed by a loud slap.

See, squirrel cats, with their tubby feline bodies, big bushy tails, coats that change colour depending on their mood and furry flaps that stretch between their front and back limbs enabling them to glide from the treetops (or ‘fly as well as any gods-damned falcon’ as Reichis would insist), can – if you stare at them, squinty-eyed, from a distance and preferably through a drunken haze – look almost cute. They’re not. Puppy dogs are cute. Bunny rabbits are cute. Poisonous Berabesq sand rattlers are cute to somebody. Squirrel cats, though? Not cute. Evil.

cutely pouts while stomping her small feet. Twin-tailed red hair

Jim Biggers looked down at the puppy playing tug-of-war with one of his bootlaces. “Quit it,” he growled, gently shaking it off. The puppy yapped and scampered away, bumping into Truck’s furry side and bouncing off. The big dog didn’t bat an eye, but he raised his head when he heard a car door slam outside. Another puppy tumbled off his back as he got up. Jim rose too, looking out the window. “She’s here,” he announced, throwing down his pencil. In another minute Kenzie and Linc walked in. One of the puppies ran to her and she squatted down to say hi. “Oh my gosh. You are so cute!” “I can’t compete,” Jim grumbled to Linc. The puppy yapped and ran away. Kenzie went around to the other side of the desk to kiss her boss on the cheek. “Sorry.” Jim grinned. “You’re forgiven. How are you doing, Linc?” He’d noticed that the younger man was still limping. There wasn’t any need to mention it specifically. “Better every day, thanks. How did Truck get stuck with babysitting?” “I promised him half a steak,” Jim said. “He fell for it.” An eager puppy chomped down hard on Truck’s ear, then put his head and paws down in play position, wagging his stubby tail. “Poor Truck,” Kenzie said sympathetically. She looked back to Jim. “Why are they here? I mean, they’re cute but way too young to start with us.” “Merry Jenkins is fostering them for me. But she’s gone for the next two days, so I have them. It’s been fun. I’m seeing plenty of potential.” He glanced at the floor, frowning. “And a few puddles.” He unrolled several sheets from the paper towel dispenser on his desk and let them drift to the floor. A puppy pounced on the white stuff and dragged it away. Jim rolled his eyes. He unrolled more paper towels, and this time he put his boot down on them. “I can’t wait to come back full-time,” Kenzie said. “When you’re ready. Not a minute before,” Jim said sternly. “Everything’s under control. No rush.” Linc looked down. “Am I seeing things?” A tiny kitten was clawing its way up his jeans. Jim harrumphed. “That’s a stray. Buddy and Wells started feeding it, and now it won’t go away.” “Aww,” Kenzie exclaimed. “It’s adorable.” Linc detached the kitten from his front pocket and held it up. The warmth of his hands calmed it, but only for a minute. The kitten stared at him, bug-eyed, then batted at his nose. “Doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything.” “Reminds me of Kenzie. I guess I’ll have to keep it. So where are you two headed?” Linc put the kitten down. Tiny tail waving, it sauntered between Truck’s furry legs. The dog didn’t seem to mind.

The Pokémon was quite cute. But as a Pikachu, I could sense some sort of force coming from Mew. It was like nothing I had never felt before. Not even from the Graveler I had fought just the day before. “Pika!” I called out to Slowpoke, “Be careful. There is more to Mew than you can see!” Slowpoke just sat there with a blank look on his face. I doubt he even understood me. I sighed loudly. Lily called out, “Slowpoke! Use your Tail Whip attack!” Slowpoke slowly crawled towards Mew and whipped his tail around, smacking Mew directly in the chest. “Good job Slowpoke! Now use your Confusion attack!