Immobility was a foreign concept to the stallion. All of his life he was able to move, he was sure. The babies he’d seen mother fluffies have were able to do so soon after being born, so he would have been the same, even when he could not open his eyes yet. An entire life spent being able to crawl, walk, and run, only to end up without any legs.
The fluffy trembled, even when he wasn’t cold. Even with the blanket over his back. This was scary. He was always afraid. He couldn’t move! He could wiggle and squirm, but he could not go anywhere! The only comfort he knew came from the person who had hurt him so, with that uncomfortably kind demeanor of hers. Kindness from a monster did not assuage the terror he felt, and it did not undo those terrible memories burned into his limited mind.
After a week, the caregiver-once-more decided she was going to give her new friend a name. That was something she had neglected to do with her previous fluffies, and that may have been part of the reason why they turned out so badly! So, the girl opted to come up with a name that would properly capture the fluffy’s magnetic personality and quirks, and bring him much joy.
When the inspiration came to her, she barged into the living room. The sound of the door cracking against the wall like thunder caused the fluffy to jump, much like a flopping fish, from his cushion. When he landed, some pellets dribbled out of him and rolled into the litter box.
Noticing this, the girl praised the fluffy. “Good boy! You got the shit scared out of you and still made good poopies!” she said jovially, over the ensuing sobs of huuu huuu. She crouched down by the pillow-fluff and stroked him lovingly while he cried and hiccupped.
After he had calmed down sufficiently, the girl said to the fluffy, “You’ve been such a good boy for a while now; you don’t make noise, or beg for things, or make messes, so I think it’s time you were given a name.”
“How time tiww weggies back?” the fluffy wondered. The quicker he got his legs back, the quicker he could get away from this scary person!
“That’s a weird name to give a fluffy,” the caretaker answered dismissively, which plucked a cord of sadness on his heart’s rhythm.
“Buh-buh-buh-” stammered the stallion.
But the girl did not pay him any mind and continued, “Your name is now ‘Footstool’! Can you say, ‘Footstool’?”
“Fwuffy–” he really wanted to express how he would rather have his legs back.
“Footstool,” the girl pressed with emphasis.
With a frown and a sob, the pillow-fluff conceded, “Footstoow nee’ weggies back, wady! Footstoow nu am happies wiffout weggies!”
The girl gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, appalled. “Footstool! All this time, you haven’t been happy?”
Footstool shook and huffed sadly. He then shook his head and let his tears loose. “Nu! Nu am happies! Miss weggies, wan’ go backsies to wun and pway!”
The girl started to sob as well. Mocking sobs and huu huus. Yet despite the mockery, Footstool was convinced that he had hurt the monster’s feelings. And if the monster had feelings… she couldn’t have been a monster… could she? Footstool coughed and sniffled, then swallowed some tears to ask,
“Wady… am saddies?”
“Absolutely inconsolable,” the girl responded while rubbing her eyes.
Footstool did not know what that meant, but he believed what his eyes were telling him. “Wady am saddies because Footstoow am saddies?”
The girl buried her face in her palms to hide the smirk that crawled across her countenance. There was no end to the comedy of this creature adopting his demeaning name so easily, for the sake of her disingenuous emotions.
The caretaker huu huu’d a few more times for good measure. The fluffy wriggled in a panic, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Nu! Footstoow sowwy! Nu be saddies, wady! Footstoow sowwy fo’ heawt-huwties! Nu! Nu! Nu!”
The wriggling caused the cushion to give ever so slightly in one direction, causing the pillow-fluff to unexpectedly roll off of it. He yelped as he went and he let out an exclamation of pain when his head hit against the living room floor. Footstool ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling.
His voice was broken by sobs when he told the girl, “N-nu be-be s-s-s-saddies fo’ Fo-Foo-tst-stoow… Footstoow… Footstoow sowwy!”
The caretaker disguised a snicker as a sniffle and then returned Footstool to his cushion. “Thank you, Footstool. You made me feel a lot better.”
“Youw… wewcome…” Footstool quivered and hiccupped.
The girl gave the pillow-fluff loving pats. All the while, new ideas started brewing in her head, spawned by what the stallion had said in his unguarded moment. All this time he had been unhappy? That was not surprising in the least, but Footstool was so restrained about it, as far as fluffies went. The other stallion wouldn’t shut up about his misfortunes, but this this one was special. This one was as selfless as the other one was selfish. Having this insight opened up so many avenues of devious potential.
But Footstool surrendered himself to the girl’s hollow affections right then. He cooed and hummed in response to the touch he now found soothing. The girl’s presence, which had previously unnerved him, was now a relief to have, inexplicably. The pillow-fluff did not resist or question this transition within himself, if he was even aware of it occurring. This was the first time he felt happiness in a long time.
What a terrible bond to make.
And the caretaker exactly how she was going to use this trait to her advantage. With her cruel brainstorming finished, the girl offered sweetly, “Footstool, do you want to eat some more of that marshmallow shit?”
“Yus, mummah! Footstoow wub mawshmawwow shid nummies!” the stallion answered with enthusiasm.
The girl beamed a smile. “Okay, buddy. I’ll get you some cereal to eat.”
The first order of business for the caretaker was to continue building this relationship with Footstool. Yes, she fed him sweet things, and treated him to spaghetti noodles every now and again, but she also took him outside when she went gardening. Footstool liked being outside under the natural sunshine again, even if it meant he was confined to a cushion while the girl trimmed the plants down. The stallion also enjoyed watching the birds and bugs go about their lives, even though it was only a fleeting glimpse into the ways of the natural world. The only negative was when the work drew long in the day, and the sun started to burn the patches of exposed skin on the pillow-fluff’s body, where his coat had only started to grow back.
Sometimes the girl would take Footstool from the living room so that he could watch television with her. The program was an animated drama serial that was too slow for the fluffy’s short attention span and too complicated for him to follow, and despite it being a cartoon, the colors were far too muted for him to find pretty. Even then, he enjoyed the attention and being included in his owner’s pastimes. It did not matter that she used him as an actual footstool, and that it was hard for him to breathe when she did so.
Every night at bedtime, the girl would place Footstool’s blanket over his back and bid him sweet dreams. The fluffy no longer shook in his wakefulness, and he no longer held so much fear in his heart. He did sleep soundly, none the wiser to the walks his owner went on around the block.
One night, she found what she was looking for.
“Weawwy? ‘ou gib housie an’ fwuffy fo’ fwend?”
Footstool was rudely awakened by an overly eager nuzzling. “Huh, wha-- stahp!” he whined, not yet realizing that he was being pushed off of his cushion. He hit the floor, rolled, and yelped.
“Stop bein’ meanies to Footstoow!” he cried, doing his utmost to keep the tears at bay.
“Sowwy fwend! Nu meanies to be meanies!” the other fluffy apologized. It was another stallion!
Footstool blinked his eyes in disbelief. “Oddah fwuffy? Whewe oddah fwuffy come fwom?”
That was when the girl made her presence known, standing a few mere feet away. “I thought you could use a friend, Footstool!”
“Mummah gib Footstoow oddah fwuffy fo’ fwend?” inquired the pillow-fluff.
The caretaker replied, “That’s a pretty fucked up notion. I didn’t just give you another living thing to fulfil a specific role in your life without consideration for its own wants and needs, and responsibility to maintaining its well-being. That is unethical. Society has moved on since then.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, totally,” said the young girl with a grin. “How about you give your new friend a name?”
Footstool gasped. This was all so sudden! He did not even know this new fluffy, but he was going to give him a name? “Uh… Footstoow namesies fwuffy–”
“A fluffy named ‘Fluffy’, huh? I dig it!” the girl announced.
The new addition reeled. “Huh!? Fwuffy ged namesies, buh is jus’ Fwuffy, 'gain!?” he complained.
“Looks like it!” the girl confirmed, as Footstool stammered.
“Mummah, nu! Footstoow nu meanie to–”
The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, bud. I don’t make the rules.” And before Footstool could press the issue, she yawned in an exaggerated fashion. “Wow, it’s late! I’m beat!”
The girl put Footstool back on his cushion and covered him with his blanket. “I know all of this commotion is exciting and all, but try to go back to sleep!”
“Nice wady, whewe do… Fwuffy…ma’e gud sweepies?” the other stallion chimed.
The girl looked around the room, then shrugged again. “Pick a corner, I guess.”
Then she walked off without waiting for a response. The other fluffy choked back tears at the blunt indignity. Why? The girl had been so nice before! What changed!? “Am Fwuffy bad fwuffy? Nu wub nu moa?”
“Nu!” Footstool reassured him. “Ma’e gud sweepies wiff Footstoow! Ma’e fwuffpiwe wiff nice cooshun-fwend!”
Fluffy wiped his tears on a foreleg. “Fank 'ou, nu-weggie fwend! Fwuffy wub 'ou!”
“F-fank 'ou…” Footstool flattened his ears. Being called a ‘no-leggy’ made him feel insecure all of a sudden. That did not matter to Fluffy, though. Fluffy eagerly accepted the offer and curled up around Footstool’s cushion. He appreciated its softness and the texture of its exterior stitching.
“Fwuffy pway in bwite time!” he promised.
“Y-yay… Footstoow… wub 'ou too…”
Footstool’s heart pained him with longing, envy and indignation. How was he ever going to play with this fluffy when he couldn’t even move? Fluffy’s sheer presence was a testament to how incomplete he was! Not only that, he was very stinky as well.
The nice lady hadn’t gotten around to giving him a bath. She was probably too tired to–
Footstool buried his nose into the nice cushion and tried to forget the memories of his own first bath. He couldn’t help but shudder, even though he knew his owner was no longer a monster.
“Hmmph,” Footstool pouted. Fluffy did not know how good he had it. However, as he started to drift back to sleep, Footstool was glad that Fluffy would only know the nice lady, and not the scary one. He was also grateful to have another fluffy who would be with him even when his owner was busy doing whatever it was that humans did when they weren’t spending time with fluffies.
The two fluffies dozed off through the night after their abrupt, eventful and confusing meeting. When Footstool woke the next morn, he was under the impression that it all had been some oddly elaborate dream. Granted, enough detail in the memory had already eroded away enough for it to qualify as being dream-like.
Fluffy’s strong odor was proof that it hadn’t been a dream at all, though. All of a sudden, life had become surreal and uncertain for the little pillow-fluff. Just as intended.
