Meet John, an emotionless, soulless shell of a man, hardened by years of blue collar labor and shitty treatment. Johnny here just bought himself a fluffy, a rowdy blue earthy stallion, having only just recently come of age. He doesn’t have a name yet, the shelters are overwhelmed and the employees are underwhelming, no time for names, no time to get personal. Fluffies come in, and leave either in the loving arms of a new owner, or the cold deadly teeth of the shredder. Don’t get attached and it won’t hurt so bad.
John works as an auto mechanic, he works long hard hours and comes home to an empty loveless home. Sure he had the money for a nice little house in the country but a house isn’t a home until you make it one, and he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. That’s where the little blue bundle of energy in the back seat comes in. You see, John has always been a bit of a loner, no friends in school aside from a few, didn’t make friends at work, or anywhere else. If he wasn’t working he was sleeping or eating. A solitary life had suited him in his early years, gave him the drive to advance his career but he’s hit a plateau both professionally and personally. He decided to go see a shrink, for the same reason he went to church on Sunday mornings: he didn’t really believe in it but it can’t hurt right? In therapy he realized three things. But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, therapy helped him realize that he’s isolated himself from the world. He’s alone and he realized he didn’t want to be anymore. His family had always been dysfunctional, and as soon as he moved out nobody made an effort to contact him, nor did he make an effort to contact them. He hadn’t spoken to his few school friends since they went off to college, he never married, never had kids, and here he was at the edge of 30 without a single companion. The shrink recommended a fluffy, which was suspicious for three reasons.
- Her office was right next door to a Fluffmart ™ store.
- He specifically told her he didn’t really like them when she asked.
- Her business card had a hasbio logo in the bottom right corner.
But hey what the hell, if he can go to church every Sunday for a god he’s not sure he believes in and go to a shrink when he’s been taught all his life not to trust them, he can take care of a fluffy, right? What’s the worst that could happen.
John parks his suburban in front of his modest two bedroom house in the country, tossing out a cigarette much to the fluffies relief.
“Fwuffy nu wike nyu daddeh’s smokey sticks! Nu smeww pwetty!”
That’s another thing. From the time he got his first job at 12, John smoked a pack a day, sometimes more.
“They help me relax, buddy.” John starts unbuckling the mess of seatbelts and bungee cords holding the fluffy down to the seat in lieu of a proper carrier. The fluffy and fluffy paraphernalia were expensive enough, why does he need a carrier too, right? It’s just one car ride. It’s worth noting that John’s father had a similar philosophy on car seats, so a few knocks on the noggin might’ve helped him reach this conclusion.
He carries the fluffy with one arm and the bag from Fluffmart ™ in the other. The fluffy runs round the house with joy while John sets the bag down on the coffee table in the living room.
“Daddeh?”
“What’s up little guy?”
“Fwuffy wan nummies!” He yells it but John can’t tell if it’s an excited yell or a demanding yell.
“Alright, I got some kibble at the store, let’s see…” John goes into the kitchen to find a dish to put the fluffy’s food in.
“buh daddeh, ebewyone at dah shewtah said gud fwuffies get sketties when dey get new daddeh an’ new housie an’ toysies!” The fluffy squeak out.
“Well I don’t have any toys for you yet either, bud, sorry. Money’s tight. My therapist said getting a fluffy might help me out, having someone around the house so I’m not alone all the time, you know?” It takes a lot for John to open up like this, but he wants to try and be a good “dad,” and he figured good parents should be honest, and it felt good to be venerable like that even if it was only just a fluffy.
“Su daddeh nu gib nyu namesies, nu gib nyu toysies, an’ nu gib sketties? am wowstes’ daddeh ebew!” He yells petulantly, “Hachou dummeh nu gud daddeh! WAN SKETTIES! WAN TOYSIES! GIB WITE NAO!”
John lights a cigarette and rubs his temples, wondering where he went wrong. The fluffy was so nice in the store, and he barely made a peep in the car… except to complain… but he was sure any fluffy would’ve complained, they’re supposed to let you know when they’re not happy, right?
“Daddeh nu eben WISTEN to fwuffy! Fwuffy teww dummeh daddeh nu wike! Wai daddeh nu wisten? Nu wike smoke!” He yells before returning to crying about not getting toys or spaghetti.
And that does it. After less than a full hour of fluffy ownership, John was over it, he was done. He couldn’t take the crying, the entitlement, or the petulance. He wanted a fluffy little buddy to watch tv with him and ask about his day when he got home from work but what he got was a screaming crying asshole that managed to drop the biggest pile of shit he’d ever seen from an animal of that size in the time he looked away. John thinks back to his childhood, watching spoiled kids break down sobbing over not getting a toy at the store while his parents counted pennies for a loaf of bread, watching kids at school rip their backpacks because they wanted new ones while he used a hand-me-down Marlboro duffel bag his dad got in the 90s, watching teenagers wreck their cars because their parents would pay to fix it while he walked in a pair of his dads old work boots that were two sizes too small. All his life John had resented those entitled jackasses and now he’d welcomed the worst of them all into his home, trashing and screaming and shitting on his floor.
“You know what you son of a bitch, I got a name for you, ok?”
“Dummeh daddeh finawwy gib namesie?”
“Ashtray.”
“Wah ashtway?”
…
sizzle
“SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”