You are Dr. Harriet Roseman. You just happened to take a (hopefully) fluffy-infecting baby virus from its parent, FV-0945, and now you’re testing it on a feral fluffy.
You get a notepad, and write something down.
Day 1
Subject #11a seems to ignore the tube shoved up its nose as it plays, being told it’s to “track how many runnies it can do”. No symptoms, yet.
“Fwuffy wan pway wit hoomin mummah! Wan pway!” The fluffy giggles, rolling a ball towards you.
“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that? Besides, I can’t play, I’m working.” You groan, walking back to your chair.
Day 2
Subject #11e seems fine. No symptoms, yet.
“Fwuffy wan pway! Fwuffy wan pway!” The fluffy runs around the backyard with your daughter, proceeding to give her “lickie-kisses” once she sits down on the grass.
“Kiwsten fun tu pway wit! Wan pway huggie-tag again!” #11a squeals, chasing your daugher playfully around the lush grass.
Day 3
#11e is starting to fall ill. He doesn’t want to play outside and will irregularly dry-heave and cough.
“Fwuffy feew sickies… Kaff! Kaff! Feew bad.” #11e sighs, laying down on the carpet.
“Mommy! What’s wrong with the fluffy?” Kirsten say, pointing at the fluffy… and the puddle of vomit it left on the floor.
“Ugh. I’ll clean that up, you go play.” You groan, grabbing a bucket and a spray-bottle.
Day 4
#11e is getting sicker. He now vomits at least 3-4 times a day and is now having coughing fits, complete with a heavily running nose.
“Blegh! Kaff! Kaff! Kaff! Fwuffy sweepy… Feew eben wowser…” #11e moans, face down in his own vomit-covered litterbox.
“Mommy! The fluffy is sick! Do something!” Kirsten cries out, hugging the fluffy and holding it up to you.
“Mommy can’t. Sorry, sweets.” You sigh, giving your daughter toys and writing.
Day 5
#11e has died. Success!
“Mommy! Fluffy won’t wake up! Help!” Kirsten cries, holding the fluffy tightly.
You are FV-0446, and you just had so much fun with your first housie-friend!
“P-pawent? Wub! Wub!” You say your first words, looking up at your not-housie-friend parent.
“Awwwwh! You’re so good at your job! You kil- gave forever night nights to that stupid fluffy! You’re mommy’s special helper!” Your parent claps gently, picking your tube-housie up and putting you on a special camera slide.
“You’re amazing! You’re such a amazing little fluffy-infecting virus! Even better than your actual pare- You’re the best!” Your parent coos, proceeding to take you to another housie-friend. You really are good at your job, but you start to think. Why doesn’t your parent look anything like you?