“Mummah! Wan sketties pwease!”
You look down at your adorable little fluffy, Peaches. Her soft coral-colored fur suits this name well. With big, sincere eyes, she sits in anticipation of what you will do next. You raise your hand– she takes a small anxious step back.
“Aww, is Peaches hungry?” you say. Now feeling that this is a safe moment, she jumps forward and starts prancing around.
“Yee am hungwie! Fwuffy nee ead fuud to gwow big an stwong!”
You chuckle, pulling a pot and some dry pasta out of the cabinet.
Peaches, now a few months old, is a little over halfway to being an adult. You bought her in one of those new half-dozen foal cartons that some bait shops have begun selling recently. Peaches hadn’t even opened her eyes for the first time yet when you pulled off the carton’s lid. She was so cute, and so helpless. You decided right then and there that she would be yours. As for the other five foals that came with Peaches– well, let’s just say it’s a good thing that she was too young to remember much.
click-click-click
Turning the dial on the stove, you place the pot full of water onto the element. Peaches is waiting at your feet, trying to contain her excitement. The water, now boiling, is ready for the dry noodles.
“Peaches, do you remember who makes the best ‘sketti’?”
“Mummah dus!” she says with a little hop. Exactly what you wanted to hear. You now give the noodles a little stir, seeing that they are done. You drain the pot, then reach for a jar of spaghetti sauce.
“Yep. And what do good fluffies do with Mummahs sketti?”
Peaches pauses for a second, apparently trying to formulate a thought. It’s adorable how stupid… and trusting…. these things are.
“Dey… uh…. dey eat awl of id wup!”
“That’s right!” you say, reaching for a small brown bottle next to where the now empty jar of sauce once sat. You turn the label to face you. Ipecac, it says. Perfect for what you are about to do. You pour a few drops onto the spaghetti, then spoon the spaghetti into a large bowl. Larger than the usual one she gets.
“And you know how Mummah will feel if you don’t eat all of the sketti?”
“… mum…. Mummah wiw be sad…” Peaches says, eyes directed at the floor.
“That’s right, Mummah would be sad. But you’re a good fluffy!”
“fwuffy am!” she looks back up at you.
“And you won’t let Mummah down tonight!”
“nuh-uh! fwuffy be bestest fwuffy an ma’e mummah pwoud!”
Perfect, just what you wanted her to think. Her conviction to accomplish a task only makes it that much sweeter to see her try.
“Okay, here’s your sketti!” You set the steaming bowl of spaghetti down on the floor. Peaches leaps for joy and runs straight to it, digging in immediately. You pull up a chair at the table to watch her.
After a moment, she gags. She lifts her head up and takes a step back.
“What’s wrong Peaches?” you say, a tone of fake concern in your voice. “Is Mummahs sketti not good?”
Peaches’ eyes widen. “wuh…? oh, nu nu nu de skettis is gud… vewy… vewy gud!”
“Okay, well then keep eating. Remember, you only get to cuddle tonight if you finish dinner.”
“Nwot ewen any huggies?”
“You know the rules. Mummah only hugs and cuddles good fluffies,” you say, knowing that this will push her further. “And a good fluffy won’t leave a noodle behind.”
Peaches looks back down at her bowl, more determined than ever. She loves you more than anything, and just wants your affection over anything else in this world. Instantly she digs in again, taking several more mouthfuls before she starts gagging again. She tries to hold herself together, and takes another bite– but the second she goes to swallow, everything comes back up.
Vomit consisting of barely chewed noodles and stomach juice is now everywhere, on the bowl, the floor, and Peaches own fur.
“PEACHES!” you shout. “You’re wasting my sketti?!”
“wai… mummah sketti id gud, fwuffy pwomise!”
Your tone goes cold. “Then tell me why you aren’t grateful enough to keep it down. Hmm?”
“fwuffy am gwateful!” she seems panicked. “Fwuffy tummie jus huwties… dunno wai, bu dunno wif fwuffy can finish sketties townigh…”
You pause for a moment, making intense eye contact with Peaches. This is how you like to see her– confused, terrified. Terrified of losing your “love.” Confused because she doesn’t know what will please you. The pathetic thing genuinely mistakes the fact that you only like to toy with her for an actual loving dynamic. She’s cute, she’s funny, and she’s too helpless to do anything–even if she does realize what’s going on. That’s really all that matters to you.
“Then you’re nothing but a bad fluffy.”
“Waid nuu!!! Fwuffy nut bad!” Peaches says through her tears. “seee fwuffy am eading sketti!!!” She digs straight back in, eating up some of the already vomited up noodles along with the ones already in the bowl. She thinks she’s making progress, but it isn’t long until she vomits again.
“…nu… fwuffy…. nwot bad fwuffy….” she’s full on sobbing now. “fwuffy jus wan Mummah to cuddwle…”
You’re trying to hold back laughter. Is this fixation on making Peaches fight for your affection just a sign of you needing control over something? Do you only want validation? Either way, it doesn’t really matter. Bombarding her with love, only to take it away the next moment is just too much fun for you. Maybe you’re just a narcissist. Honestly, who cares. Well, maybe Peaches would, but she probably couldn’t even remotely pronounce “narcissist” to begin with.
You walk over to her and grab her by the mane. She winces.
“Owie! Pwease nu hwurties!”
“Peaches…” you whisper. “I worked very hard to make that sketti, and you’re making me sad by not appreciating it. I’m even getting a bit angry.”
“nu! nu wan Mummah tu be sad!!”
“I’m beginning to think that you don’t love me anymore.” This will surely send her into a spiral.
“Fwuffy wuv Mummah! Pwease, fwuffy wuld neva wan tu made Mummah wupswet!”
“Then eat it.”
“bud– it hwurts tumm–”
“You’re making that up. If you really loved Mummah you wouldn’t lie to me.” You know what she said was true, but it’s quite fun to make her think that she’s crazy.
You let go of her mane, and she looks back down at the bowl of vomit mixed with spaghetti. She gulps, then says “otay…” before going back in to attempt at finishing it.
Through her tears, she gobbles up mouthfuls of her food, only to vomit it up just as quickly. Soon herself and the floor around her is filthy, and you’re wondering if the cleanup tomorrow would be worth it. Eh, who are you kidding, this level of psychological sadism is worth any amount of aftermath.
After about 20 more minutes, you’ve decided you’ve seen enough. You get up and plan to go to bed. Last time you did this to her, she was up all night trying to finish that damn bowl.
“I’m going to bed. Since you wouldn’t finish your sketti, you get no cuddles tonight.”
“Bud fwuffy twying!” Peaches says desperately, her body trembling.
“You’re not trying hard enough. And that bowl better be finished by tomorrow morning, or you’ll never get cuddles again. Got it?”
“…sob… yes Mummah…”
“Good,” you say shortly. “Now I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Otay… gud nwight…” she says with a sadness in her eyes. “I wuv yu Mummah…”
You say nothing back, and head off to bed. Peaches cries for a few minutes, then gets back to working on finishing her food. It’s going to be a long night for her.