Day 19: Friday:
6:36 pm: Screw it, I deserve a drink. Most of the fifty is going to cleaning supplies that are fluff-safe and therefore twice as expensive, but if I am willing to live a solid week on ramen and hotdogs I can afford a fifth of Canada LTD whiskey. Me and my friends affectionately nicknamed this particular brand Punishment Whiskey, and while it’s not the finest 5 dollar bottle on the market, it is far and away the most effective.
Managed to get the fluffy for extra cheap because they were doing the monthly culling. Seeing a pallet full of fluffies that were being wheeled away for the crime of not being cute or lucky enough to make it and being cheaper to shred than to feed managed to melt even my jaded fluffy killing heart. Picked up a grey Pegasus with a stump where it’s left wing should be. Some rough shipping and it was doomed from the start. Named the fluffy Chaser since I couldn’t afford an actual Chaser.
7:02 pm: Made it home safely. I set him in the pen and poured myself a drink. You do not drink punishment whiskey straight so lets see what I can do with materials on hand.
Drunk O’Clock:ah this is the Jidudsas of liquor that witch KISSESS and BETRAIYS! Chaster is a good lithtke fuckker and danecne for my amusement! more lickuqor bring me more! and hwh y nm thiere pants! NO pants no!
Day 20: Saturday.
Last night was a blur. I managed to mix the punishment whiskey and ramen broth with some Papa John’s Garlic butter into something tolerable. I call it the Extra Credit. I remember Chaser really wanted to try my “burnie wawa” and I almost agreed - before remembering that this was a surefire way to end up with a new fluffy tomorrow. I woke up on the floor, Chaser sleeping on my chest and a pack of elephants trampling the inside of my skull. I prodded him very carefully to make sure he was still alive and not another accident. The fluffy stirred a bit.
“wet fluffy sweep. Daddeh stay up too late,” The fluffy mumbled while adjusting himself. I carefully pulled him off of my chest and set him down on the carpet.
The rest of the day consisted of constantly checking on Chaser to make sure that he was still alive. No accidental drowning, impalement, clear air lightning strikes or spontaneous fluffy combustion. Just a slightly tired fluffy who clearly enjoyed the attention. He did get confused when I cried after he made it a full twenty four hours. I explained to him that some eye wawa is happy wawa. He still insisted on hugging me to make me feel better. I didn’t stop him, I think we both needed it.
Day 21: Monday.
9:00 AM. I almost skipped class today to stay home with Chaser today but even my still hungover ass can’t justify risking my grades for extra credit. I taped over all of the vents, made sure that the water bowl had just enough water so he wouldn’t get dehydrated but not so much that he could drown. Anything remotely swallowable or toxic was put up in a locked closet, all of the electrical outlets had child safe plugs and anything sharp or heavy was moved far back from the edge of any counters or set on the floor. Just to be extra safe I turned the gas off and taped shut the bathroom door.
6:30 pm
I came home to a wrecked apartment and blood, shit and piss everywhere. Chaser was lying in the middle of it, his fur half ripped off and covered in white powder, quietly huuing and chanting wan-die, wan die. I knew better than to try and fix it this time and snapped his neck.
As near as I can tell, Chaser was playing with his bouncy ball and it bounced out of his enclosure. At a guess he managed to climb over the fence using the child safe plug as a hoof hold to follow it into the apartment. He continued to bounce it around until it managed to get lost behind the stove. When I turned the gas off I must not have pushed it back in all the way and there was a big enough gap to let chaser stick his head and a leg in to try and reach the errant ball.
Having successfully retrieved the ball he tried to back out of the gap when some of his fluff caught on the sharp edge of the sheet metal making up the oven. He tried backing away to get away from the pain which caused his thin skin to tear away from his body, which lead to more pain, more pulling and more skin loss, creating a vicious cycle that ended with a third of his skin attached to the oven and about half of the remainder flopping about like a loose banana peel.
He then proceeded to tear about the apartment leaving bits of fluff, streaks of blood and splashes of waist product everywhere. At some point his panicked pinballing caused him to knock over the bag of salt that I moved to the floor to prevent it from falling on him. Instead it scattered the salt crystals all around the kitchen and all over his exposed nerve endings. This final bit of pain shocked his system enough to put him deep into wan-die territory.
On one hand, Fuck. On the other hand, all the banging around left him very tender and the salt rub was perfect. Fried him up in oil and I had the best meal since this project started.
Day 22: Tuesday.
Eight days left. Eight days. I just have to keep them alive for eight days. I could get one and pray for survival like I have been doing, but the classical definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. I could do something more extreme like empty a foal-in-a-can machine and hope at least one survives till the due date but I am sure that some final destination-esque Rube Goldberg happenstance will kill them off one by one.
Right now I don’t care about the extra credit, I don’t care about the teacher’s opinion, I don’t even care if people think if I am some sort of sick abuser, I just want to get this done. Going to do a bit of research.
Day 23: Wednesday.
The Project begins.