You’re Applefluff’s owner. Right now you’re not happy with her. She’s usually very obedient, though accident prone, but every now and then she does something naughty.
You just got home from work, let her out of the safe room, and she immediately ran over and stole some of your french fries off the coffee table. She knows better and almost never does something like that, but today the temptation was apparently too much for her. At least she didn’t make things worse by lying to you when you asked if she ate some of your fries.
Right now she’s cringing on her belly, ears flat, and tail tucked under her belly, trembling, as you angrily loom over her.
“Do you know what you did wrong?”
“Yus, suw.”
“What did you do wrong?”
“Appuwfwuff steaw daddeh’s nummies. Appuwfwuff sowwy…”
Hmm. Usually a fluffy will try to offer all kinds of excuses for why it did something wrong, but Applefluff knows better. Then again, she also knew not to touch your food.
“Do you know what happens to naughty girls?”
She cringes even further, belly to the floor.
“Bad fwuffies get… get da sowwy stick.”
“That’s right. Were you naughty?”
“… yus, suw.”
“Do you deserve the sorry stick?”
“… whimper… yus, suw.”
You pick up your sorry stick from its place on your book shelf; it’s a thin, flexible metal ruler. Just perfect for smacking a fluffy pony on the ass, without actually harming it. You hold it up where it’s visible and sit on the couch.
“Come here.”
Whimpering, she stands up and obediently trots over to stand unhappily at your feet. You pick her up and lay her across your lap.
SLAP. You flick your wrist to flex the ruler more so it snaps on her rump and she bites back a yelp; between the flat surface, light weight, and low force you’re using, it won’t leave so much as a bruise. The fluff padding her butt helps too. But it’s just perfect for punishing Applefluff on the rare occasions she’s truly naughty.
SLAP.
SLAP.
SLAP.
SLAP.
She whines in the back of her throat, but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. You set her back on the floor.
“Do you understand why what you did was bad?”
“Yus, suw.”
“All right. Go lay in your bed.”
Your fluffy hurries back into the safe room and lays on her bed. You follow her in, scoop up any toys she had out, and place them in the toy box. Then you shut the lid, which she can’t open, lacking opposable thumbs.
“All your toys are in time out. I want you to think about what you did.”
Her eyes water, but she doesn’t move a muscle, afraid to anger you further. You shut the door behind you and examine what’s left of your fries.
She only got a couple, but now you’ve got fluffy drool on the rest. You toss your fries into the trash and resign yourself to eating just your burger, sans fries. You ignore the muffled whimpering coming from the safe room while you eat dinner.
You watch an episode of Firefly, curse the executives who canceled it, and decide Applefluff has probably stewed in her own misery for long enough. Opening the door to the safe room, you see she hasn’t moved an inch from where you left her.
“Are you sorry?”
She nods, eyes still watering.
“Are you going to do it again?”
“Nu, suw.”
“Come gimme a hug.”
She runs as fast as she can across the room, tripping on her blanket and faceplanting once, and tackles your leg in an intense hug. You pick her up and hug her back.
“There’s my good girl. I don’t like you when you’re naughty; I much prefer my good Applefluff.”
“… wuv yoo, daddeh.”
“I love you too, sweetie. C’mon, let’s get those toys out of time out now.”
Oddly, Applefluff has continued to mope around the rest of the day, being lethargic and largely uninterested in playing. On the few occasions you’ve had to punish her in the past, she hasn’t stayed like this once you forgave her and ended her punishment. You’re a little concerned.
“Applefluff? What’s wrong, sweetie?”
She slowly walks over to you and meets your eyes, trembling a little.
“Daddeh… Appuwfwuff nu feew gud.”
“Aw, sweetie! It’s ok. Daddy’s not mad at you anymore.”
Then she barfs all over your shoes and you realize she meant something entirely different.
“Aaaaaand it’s fluffy flu season again. Great.”
You still have her medicine from last time in the closet. You go to get a wet washcloth to clean your shoes with and retrieve her medicine, resigning yourself to spending the next day or two consoling a sick, barfing fluffy.
Such is the life of a fluffy owner.
