Rainfall tended to drive fluffies from their alley-way hovels in the same way that flooding holds drove rats up through the decks of a sinking ship. Cardboard shelters can only last so long before they come apart under pools of raindrops, invariably drenching the unfortunate strays seeking sanctuary within discarded boxes. The ones forced to wander, wet and cold, are the survivors of a fright that has claimed the lives of innumerable fluffies in the past, and one that will continue to claim their lives so long as fluffies remain a part of the world. A wet fluffy is not necessarily a drowned fluffy, but many fluffies die after being wetted for fear of drowning.
This is the meager background of a faded earthie fluffy, whose unappealing gray-green coat was washed out – in more ways than one – underneath the churning skies pierced by the indifferent city towers. She survived the cold shock of being soaked, only to bumble onwards without a goal in sight.
Her life story spanned the many weeks it had taken her to go from a foal to an adult feral. Much had occurred in that period, but the most important would absolutely have been those bewitched hours in the dead of that fateful night. That was the night when a blunder had set the mare’s kind loose upon these United States. She was only a chirpy then, nestled in the fluff of her mother, as the exodus of technicolor hides spilled into the foreboding, foreshadowing, darkness.
The intentions may have been pure, although buried under misguided practice, but the result was plain to all but the fluffies themselves: the bio-toys could wander the regions they roamed for forty years or more, and they would never find their promised land.
So much time had passed since that night, yet the mare could only remember the previous day, when the air was warm and the hot ball in the sky was nice and bright.
Now the ball was hiding and the clouds were being mean. The mean clouds hurt the bright-ball’s feelings!
Sobbing quietly to herself, the feral mare cowered through the scary open streets where people tread. The people walking in her direction nimbly maneuvered past her without acknowledging her presence. The people passing her from behind similarly paid her no mind.
The city – the world – was full of stray animals that people could not care for. Fluffies were even more abundant than they, and many times more demanding than any dog or cat could ever be. It is the unfortunate lot that those who cannot afford a pet, or those that are unable to house one, are forced to ignore feral fluffies no matter how much they beg. Those that gave in to their compassion which extended past their means experienced nothing but misery in the end, without fail.
Only a fluffy could experience the trials of an eternity in the span of a half-hour. The shivering fluffy finally knew what it was like for someone to pay attention to her after the sum of these terrible minutes.
“Hey there little girl! You seem cold!” A woman with a clear umbrella squatted down before the homeless fluffy, smiling broadly.
The mare latched onto the slightest indication of kindness. “Nice wady! Fwuffy am so cowd! Hab wowstest baffies eba! Sky-wawa nu gud fo’ fwuffy!”
“It really is not,” the woman concurred. The validation was enough to drive the mare to tears.
“M-m-meanie cwouds ma’e bwight-baww go ‘way! Wan’ bwight-baww backsies! Huuu huuu huuu!” Unable to hold back the ugly sobs, the mare flopped onto her haunches and tucked her snout in between her front hooves, so that her eyes were covered by her forelegs.
The woman hummed sympathetically. “Yeah, this rain and wind is ruthless! Good thing I have this nice, warm coat, and this handy umbrella!”
The quivering mare sniffled. “Wan’ wawmsies, too!” She looked up at the contraption in the lady’s grasp and asked, “Am dat umbwewwa?”
“It is!” the woman replied brightly.
“Wha’ am?”
“It’s human magic that keeps us dry when the sky is being… uh… ‘mean’!”
“Hoomie mah-jickies,” the wet mare said wistfully.
“Say,” the lady put a a finger against her chin as though in thought, “how about I use my human magic to give you a home, with me?”
The mare gasped. The influx of air gave her the hiccups. “N-n – hic – m-mu – hic – mmah? Mumm – hic – gib fwu – hic – ffy nyu home – hic – wif – hic – hoomie mah – hic – ies?”
“What the fuck did you just say…?” the woman muttered under her breath.
“Huh – hic – ?”
“Sure!” she beamed after parsing the truncated, lispy inquiry.
The mare gasped again. The influx of air ceased the spasm in her diaphragm. “Fwuffy am so happies!”
“You sure are!” said the umbrella-holding stranger.
A few of those passing by gave sidelong looks to the woman with the umbrella. These were the people who had read about the rumored strangers who stopped their days to interact with downtrodden strays. They passed their silent judgements and continued on their way, resigned to the fact that they could not stop whatever it was that would transpire.
The woman cradled the smelly feral in the nook of her arm like an infant all the way back home, making sure to keep her sheltered under her umbrella. She lived on an unassuming lane lined with small, couple-bedroom residences with tiny front lawns. Once she got to her door, she set the mare down and fished the key out of her pocket.
The lady opened the door and ushered the mare to step in. The warmth wafting out of the open door made the stray’s eyes go wide with anticipation. Tears of joy welled up as a broad smile spread across her fluffy cheeks.
She lifted a hoof and took a tentative step forward. Then another. And another.
The lady closed her umbrella and stepped over the overwhelmed fluffy to slip it into its holder beside the door, and then she stood in the doorway in wait. It took a few minutes, but the mare did ultimately muster the courage to venture into the nice stranger’s home.
“Oh my god!” the woman cried then.
“HUU!” the mare sobbed.
The lady scooped up the feral and held her at arm’s length so that she could void herself onto the grass next to the walkway leading up to her door. After she was done with her reflexive defecation, the lady took her back inside and placed her at the threshold of the doorway.
“Little lady, you are naked!”
The mare was so confused, she was at a total loss for words. All she could think to do was investigate herself; first with her forelegs, and then almost somersaulting when she tucked into herself to look at her underbelly.
“Nu twue?” responded the baffled fluffy.
“Well, if you’re going to be naked, you might as well get yourself into the shower! You have poo all over your bottom!”
“Show-wah?”
“The bath!”
The mare staggered backwards in terror. Bath – something about the word conjured innate imagery in the fluffy. Gleaming pale tubs, suds, and worst of all: “Wawa BAD fo’ fwuffy! Wawa BAD! Nu moa’ wawa fo’ fwuffy, pwease!”
The woman crossed her arms. “Well, since you asked nicely… but you’ll have to stay outside if you won’t make yourself decent.”
An even colder terror clutched the fluffy’s small heart. “Nu! Nu can be ousside nu moa! Wan’ nice homesie wif nice wady! Wan’ wady to be mummah! Pwease nu ma’e fwuffy go ousside ‘gain! Nu noh wha’ do wong, buh neba do 'gain!”
“How can you promise to never do it again, when you’re still naked in my home, miss?” The lady shook her head disappointedly. “I really didn’t think you’d be a liar, nor did I expect you to start as soon as a roof was placed over your head.”
“Nu!” A horrid chill ran down the mare’s spine at the accusation. She prostrated herself on the floor with her forelegs placed over her head in the classic duck-and-cover manner. “Am gud fwuffy! Pwomise! Fwuffy pwomise! Nu pud ousside! Huu huu… gib fwuffy baffies, jus’ nu pud ousside! Pwease! Pweee-heee-heeeeaaaze!”
The mare sobbed hopelessly. The lady picked her up – mindful of her feces-matted fluff – and closed the door. A quick trip up to the bathroom preceded the bath. It was warm and bubbly, but the mare was so despondent about the mental ordeal of her nakedness that she did not get to enjoy a moment of it. The only reprieve came from her newly clean and dried state, but it was not to last.
“You know, you’re still naked. That won’t do,” the feral’s owner pointed out.
Though she wished to protest, the mare chose to nod somberly. “Fwuffy fwuff nu gud fo’ mummah. Fwuffy am gon’ do fixies.”
“Okay, girl.”
“Mummah, how fwuffy do fixies fo’ fwuff?”
The lady shrugged. “Just put on some clothes?”
The mare blinked a few times upon hearing this most unhelpful advice. Without much alternative, she raised her forelimbs expectantly. “Upsies? Gib fwuffy cwoze?”
The woman chortled. “What a funny fluffy you are! No dear, I’m not going to dress you! Now stop being a silly, naked fluffy, and put some clothes on like the dignified young lady you are!”
This treatment continued for several eternities.
Which meant, a few days.
The mare was fed and played with over the weekend, but she was constantly reminded of her nakedness. She began to resent her pale-green pelt as a result. She could almost remember the murmurings of other fluffies. The fluffies were just blobs of color in her mind – the memories perhaps even more degraded than that – but deep down, she knew she had been a poopie baby growing up. That’s why she’d been alone for so long! It was the only thing that made sense! No other fluffy liked her because her fluff was bad!
And now she was being a poopie fluffy, when she finally had a good home and a kind owner!
It wasn’t fair!
She wanted to be a good fluffy!
The feral set out on a mission when she’d had enough of her shortcomings. Her owner wore pretty not-fluff all the time, so she ventured to do the same. The lady had nice drapes with pretty flowers embroidered into them, hanging in front of the windows. The mare fumbled with the ends of several sets, trying her damnedest to pull them down.
She was not strong enough.
The mare explored the house until she found her owner’s unlocked bedroom. She tried to scramble up the bed to get at the blankets and pillowcases, all shades of pink and so, so pretty. But all ultimately out of her reach. The mare just could not find purchase on the rounded detailing of the bed frame with her smooth hooves.
It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair!
The mare was so desperate, she attempted to slip underneath the bathroom mats and wear them over her back and haunches like a robe. They were too unwieldy for her hooves to manipulate, and too heavy for her to raise.
“Nu faiw! Nu faiw! Dere am nu cwoze fo’ fwuffy anywheres! Fwuffy nu wan’ be nakies nu moa’!”
The anguish of her predicament swirled in the mare’s mind. What was she to do? The nice lady wouldn’t help her, and there was nothing she could do for herself! The mare then bared her teeth and huffed. The stormy, clouded thoughts parted to let a ray of clarity through. “Fwuffy nu nee’ cwoze! Fwuffy hab fwuff! Fwuffy hab FWUFF! Fwuff am cwoze! Mummah am dummeh!” proclaimed the frustrated fluffy.
She dropped onto her side and puffed her cheeks. “Mummah nu noh wha’ nakies am! Fwuffy show!”
With a fervor, the mare bit into her own hide. She tore mouthfuls of pale-green clumps of fluff from her body and spat the almost-hairball textured refuse out on the bathroom rugs. The discomfort did not stop her in the slightest, as her small mind fixated on the concept of nakedness. Why naked? Her fabricated instincts told her that she should have been happy; she had a home, food, water, and a person to care for her.
Yet there was this insecurity gnawing at her at every waking moment.
Nakedness.
It took more than an hour to accomplish, but the mare had torn most of the fluffy off of her limbs, sides, and sections of her underbelly, the spots where her limited flexibility allowed her to reach. Her skin was pale. The chewed-up regions of fluff were patchy and ragged. Blood seeped up from the mare’s raw flesh.
It took more than an hour of madness to do this deed.
It took but an instant for the regret to set in.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” the mare cried out in abject fluffy-horror as the droplets of blood pulsed to the surface.
The woman appeared in the doorway within minutes.
“Jesus-Fucking-Christ,” said she. “You look like a plucked chicken, for fuck’s sake.”
The mare looked up at the woman with a broken sorrow spread across her countenance. “Hewp nakies fwuffy, pwease mummah! Fwuffy hab heawt-huwties, an’… an’ owies! Wowstest fwuff-owies!”
“God,” the woman whispered to herself as she squatted down to regard the damage the mare had done to herself up close, “you look like a shaved nut-sack. If the one shaving his coin purse was a fucking Parkinson’s case…”
“Pawk-imsom?” the mare sniffled.
“… You look like Michael J. Fox tried to shave his balls,” the woman continued to whisper blithely.
The fluffy panted a few times before fresh grief poured out of her eyes. The woman started to pet her exposed skin, but there was no affection in the gesture. She ran her fingers along the mare’s irritated flesh with the same clinical methodology of a mortician exploring the physical tale told by a corpse.
“Teeth marks… blood…” the woman chuckled softly to herself. “What in the world…?”
The mare said with a voice full of gravel, “Mummah, nu wan’ petties an’ scritchies… f-fwuffy nee’ fwuff backsies!”
“No you don’t,” said the lady with an authoritative tone. The sheer assertiveness prompted the suffering mare to stop speaking and bob her snout in agreement, as pertained her mental conditioning to obey. It was only after a beat that she began to question what her owner said.
“F-fwuffy n-nu n-nee’ fwuff…?” The mare laughed a small airy, uncertain laugh. “M-mummah… fwuffy nu fink nao is time fo’ jokesies…”
The lady shook her head. “No. This is a perfect state of dress for you,” she decided with a smile that the mare found deeply unsettling.
“I need you to maintain this appearance for as long as you are under my roof, young woman. Every time your fluff grows back, you are to… repeat what you did today. Do you understand?”
The mare’s eyes were wide with confusion and dread. “M-mummah – ?”
“If you do not understand, you’re as good as homeless again,” the woman stated her ultimatum.
“N-NU! NU! NU TAE’ HOMESIES 'WAY!”
The woman reiterated with an ominously level voice, “Do you understand?”
“Y-yus! Wiww num fwuff! Wiww num fwuff fo’ nu be nakies anymoa!” the mare blathered without comprehending. She knew what she had to do, but it made no sense to her small, fluffy brain. But it did not need to make sense to her. Her nice owner knew what was best, and she had to live by her rules.
The woman smiled.
“It’s about time I gave you a name, young miss.”
“N-namesies?” The mare’s fears melted away, replaced by anticipation. Her heart fluttered.
“Clipper!” the woman announced with glee.
“C-cwippew…” the mare experimented with the name. It was not a pretty name. It did not make her nearly as happy as she thought it would when she spoke her name. “Cwippew… Cwippew… wub… wub namesies. Cwippew… wub mummah…” the mare said dispassionately. “Fank 'ou… mummah…”
“You’re quite welcome, my good fluffy. My little Clipper!”
The mare nodded slowly. She then buried her face in a mostly-bare foreleg and cried. “Cwippew hab owies…” Clipper stuffed her mouth with a hoof to stifle her sobs.
“They’ll go away eventually,” the woman reassured her before leaving Clipper to her own devices.
Clipper continued crying for some time, still.
#theme-week