Art for  kitwriter's novel. Rufus is one of the main characters in the story he is writing.
Here is a bit of the story:

"Rufus Tucker Darken lifted his muzzle, peering down his darkly furred face at the purple tie. He couldn’t see it very well over the shape of his maw. “Stupid things aren’t meant for werewolves,” he muttered.
The door to his hotel room and Aimee walked in. The female wolf wore a dark gown that contrasted nicely with her lighter fur coloration. She approached Rufus. “Everyone is ready.”
Rufus turned to her. “Fix m’tie?”
Aimee nodded. “Lift your head.”
Rufus eased his muzzle upward.
Aimee reached up and gave a gentle tug on the knot so that it was away from his throat. “No one wears it to their throat anymore. That’s for stuffy businessmen.”
“I been around a while. I’mma bit traditional at times.”
“I’m glad you went with the lilac color,” said Aimee. “It compliments your black fur.”
“I’m too old to look like anything but a stuffy old coot, now.”
Aimee smoothed her paw over Rufus’ pinstripe vest. “You’re a handsome gentleman in the fur,” she said encouragingly. “I’m honored to have you as my boyfriend’s father.” She reached a clawed finger up and unbuttoned the collar button of his large shirt, specially tailored for his werewolf form.
“Aimee, I’ll look like a shlup.”
She scoffed. “No, you looked like a stiff, uptight shlup before I walked in the door.” She reached down, beneath his shirt, drawing his necklace out from beneath the shirt. “The Gleipnir of Fenris should be worn proudly for all to see.”
Rufus nodded in silence.
Aimee reached for Rufus’ left forepaw and unbuttoned his sleeve. She rolled it up, carefully and evenly, to just beneath his elbow. She used her thumb claw to fix a tuck in the cloth sleeve. She reached for his right forepaw and rolled his other sleeve up so that they matched on both sides. “There.”
Rufus turned to the mirror and scoffed. “I look like I’m tryin’ to be a quarter of my age.”
She chuckled. “No, you look like you could be on the cover of ‘Vanity Fur.’
“Oh Lord.” Rue looked himself over. “I can see the article synopsis’ onna cover now: Rufus Darken. How do ‘e compare to other werewolves? Do anybody even r’member Team Jacob? Does that there Lone Wolf still make for a better love story than Twilight?”
“Full spread inside,” she added. “Also, in this issue: Southern Charm? Is it real? Is it the twang of the traditional chivalry that makes a southern gent appealing? Our top ten southern sweethearts inside – page thirty-four.”
Rufus chuckled, albeit only slightly, cracking the first hint of a smile since Ulfey’s death. He appreciated her sense of humor and his son, and the funeral at the village for Ulfey.
Trying to appease Aimee’s attempt at helping his mood, Rufus added, “Also see – ten ways to avoid those full moon hangovers.”
“Master your domain,” she said, coming up with more possible articles for the make-believe cover of the ‘Vanity Fur’ parody magazine. “Learn when to keep control and when to let go of your inner beast in our exclusive Werewolf Edition.”
“You’re too much.”
Aimee stepped back and looked him over. “You look good, pops.” She turned for the door. “Whatever speech you wrote, say what you memorize and adlib the rest. It’ll be from the heart that way.”
Rufus followed her out of the room. It felt unnatural to wear clothing overtop of fur. He never really understood the custom in certain werewolf tribes, but he wanted to do his best for the surviving members of Ulfey’s people.
The hotel was exclusively owned by the Native people, and was locked down to public for Ulfey’s memorial service.
He followed Aimee down to the large ballroom on the first floor. Rufus approached his son, who had been greeting attendees, and the two hugged in silence.
“You look sharp, pop,” Rama whispered to his father.
“Yer lady helped. She said I looked like a businessman at first … or somethin’.”
“You ready?”
“Yeah, you?”
Rama nodded. “I’ve memorized my speech. But … age before beauty.”
“Heh.” Rufus nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go first.” He gave his son a firm pat and took his place at a podium in front of the room.
Werewolves of all colors and fur-patterns assembled in seats. Some of them wore modern clothing styles like Rufus. Some wore older clothing styles, honoring their heritage. Some were Irish, some were Scottish, and some were dressed in Nordic fashion. At least half wore a standard suit and tie, some with a blazer.
Rufus sighed through his nose. He didn’t want to do this. It seemed equally unnatural. “I’m Rufus Darken – Rama’s father. I’ve been asked to speak, and I’ll do my best... Pardon me if I seem a bit nervous, y'all. I don't do funerals verra good.”"

Learn more about it at: http://kitkaramak.com/