HA—caught you lookin’. Don’t worry, I’d stare too. It’s not every day you see a wolf this plush and this unapologetically happy about it, right?

Name’s Tilly. Tilly Wren Moss if you’re feeling formal, but let’s be real—you won’t be. I live in Mosier, Oregon. Blink and you’ll miss it. It’s wedged between Hood River and nowhere in particular, with art on every wall, wind in your fur, and a view of the gorge that makes you forget whatever stress monster was chewing on your brain.

I run a little home art studio—lots of color, lots of mess, and yes, a chair that groans when I sit but still holds all this belly just fine. I’ve got comics taped to the walls, paint under my nails, and a wardrobe made entirely of stretchy tees and leggings that gave up trying to contain me years ago.

So, what brings you here? Curiosity? Kink? Chaos? Whatever it is, you’re welcome to stay—as long as you don’t mind snort-laughs, second breakfasts, and the occasional belly flop onto a beanbag when I’m feeling dramatic. I’m loud, soft, and surprisingly wise when the snacks are flowing. Just don’t mistake cute for delicate. I’ve got stories. I’ve got scars. I’ve got stretch marks that spell out punchlines if you squint.

Sit down. Spill it. You bring the tea, I’ll bring the belly.