Have you ever seen a photo of the Tibetan Sand Fox?

Its face looks like a flat disk, the narrow snout seeming pulled out of its face, flesh or dough raised by pinching fingers. Its eyes are too high on its face, not round and big in a manipulative display of neoteny like you’d see in another fox. It almost appears to scowl; a child’s drawing of some sort of canid, uncertain, an amalgamation of fox and wolf and clumsiness and nightmare.

This is how I feel.

I am a childish scribble given form and flesh. My face, like the neither fox nor wolf of the sand fox, is neither male nor female. I skulk and scowl and unsettle those who see me.

Some people are cute.

Others are sand foxes.

It is beyond ugliness - it is something which should not exist. The Tibetan Sand Fox doesn’t look so ugly when you get used to it; fluffy, perhaps even noble. A sort of ugly-cute. But despite any affection you can have for it, it still looks wrong. This is not a creature that should exist on this earth.

I am not a creature that should exist on this earth.

Ugly-cute, perhaps, but something else put me here. Eldritch to the mundane extreme.

You may still fluff my tail.