I hocked everything I owned, got a title loan on my car, traded in the bonds my grandmother gave me, maxed out my credit card, applied for three more and maxed those out. I donated blood at two different clinics, took out a payday loan and convinced my boss to advance me next weeks wages. I now have more personal debt than student debt and I’m woozy from anemia.
I found a mad scientist fluffy breeder upstate. He came highly recommended by abuser and fluffy connoisseur alike. After a long discussion and a lot of money changing hands he sold me a fluffy especially bread to survive every kind of abuse. It was a pillowed purple earthy stallion. He also set me up with a state of the art life support system. It looked like some sort of mechanical medical rape machine, tubes in each of the fluffy’s holes and several piercing the skin in different places. Indicator light kept track of everything from it’s pulse to it’s brain activity.
I named it Babylon, my last, best hope.
The fluffy had a machine to make sure it’s lungs were breathing, it’s his heart was pumping, even regulating the digestive system. The breeder showed me pictures of fluffies that were placed on the machine after what I can only hope were horrible accidents and not someone’s idea of a good time. Some were in worse shape than any of the fluffies I have gone through and were still somehow alive. I even sprung for the filtered oxygen supply, emergency adrenaline and fluffyOxy painkiller infuser.
As long as the waste tank was empty, the food bin was full and the power was on the fluffy would not die. The system had a twelve hour battery backup but just to be sure I had an engineering student set up a combined solar and wind backup rig on the fire escape to keep it powered no matter what. That took the rest of my money plus a promise to do his English midterm. The only way the fluffy would die would be if the building burned down and if that happened then I wouldn’t have to worry about the angry calls from my land lord that I have been dodging.
I set up a tablet with FluffTv for it to watch and made sure to scratch behind it’s ears whenever I could. It couldn’t chase a ball or play with blocks so it was the best I could do to give it a good life.
The machine had an app that gave me real-time monitoring and notifications plus a webcam feed. There was a greyed off area full of abuse options that I tried not look at.
It took me a lot of time and more money than I care to think about but by damn I will finish this assignment.
Stress hormones are fairly low, all indicators are green. I can see some sadness in the fluff’s eye but at least it was safe.
The gentle thrum of the wind turbine on the fire escape is a constant reminder that this fluffy will live.
7:45 Pulled an extra shift. Gonna need to pay off everything somehow.
2:30. Got an alert at work, heart rate and stress indicators skyrocketed. I pulled up the webcam and spotted a black widow spider sinking it’s fangs into the fluffy. I tapped the painkiller button and the adrenaline button and crossed my fingers. The spider bit a few more times but with each bite, the indicators jumped less, I guess it was running out of venom.
I rushed home. First thing I did was crush the spider with a broom. The fluffy was covered in bug bites but still alive and the readouts were moving back to normal. I put some ointment on the spider bites and set the machine to give him a course of FluffMox antibiotics.
Don’t know where the spider came from, we are well out of the natural habitat of black widows, but he’s still alive so I will call this one a success.
8:20 AM He was looking better in the morning and wagged his tail when I scratched his ears. When I came into work my boss said I haven’t looked this happy in weeks. He then told me that since I got the payment advance I would get to clean out the bathroom.
Even without dead fluffies I have to deal with shit.
4:30 PM came home to hazmat crews cordoning off my building. Some Walter White wannabe was trying to make meth and flooded the building with toxic gas. The snake guy was off to the side, weeping because his precious Miia didn’t make it.
I checked the app. The camera feed was a bit hazy from the chemicals but all the life support signs green. Looks like investing in the NBC filters payed off big time.
The cops say we should be able to go back tomorrow. Sucks having to sleep in the car but I know that the machine has a weeks worth of food ready.
6:34 back home. Had to throw out my limited food supplies due to potential contamination. May have to stop by the food bank to get through the week but by damn Babylon is gonna make it.
9:23. Power went out. It’s too dark for solar but the wind is going fast enough to run the windmill and keep the battery fully charged. Babylon is a bit scared of the dark and sad that FluffTv is off but I don’t want to risk the extra power drain. Not when I am this close.
7:30 AM. Home stretch! Prometheus wasn’t active this morning, I think he is tired from last night but the respiration and heartbeat was solid. I’m sure he’ll be awake when I get home.
4:13 PM: Shit. He’s not responsive, gotta make some phone calls.
So apparently a vertical wind turbine generating 150 watts in 15 mile per hour winds create an infrasound vibration with a frequency of 5 hertz. And apparently the resonance frequency of a fluffy skull is 5 hertz. The engineer and the fluffy breeder spent a few hours examining the set up, looking over logs and indicator lights and arguing about cosines and major harmonics and strain relief and effective shielding before trying to explain it to me.
What exactly does this mean? I don’t really know. The The end result is that the vibrations from the wind turbine liquefied the brains of Babylon.
As long as he is hooked up to the machine his blood will flow, his lungs will pump oxygen and his digestive system will continue to provide him with sustenance. By all accounts, he can remain in this state for several years longer than most fluffies, since his system strain is minimized and the risk of accidents are zero. He is not, by any major definition, dead. However, I don’t think that I can really call him alive.
Final conclusion: Either God hates fluffies, God hates me, or both.