It’s been six months now and your fluffy is still the size of a teacup chihuahua. She fits comfortably in the palms of your cupped hands. You’ve come to the conclusion that this is simply as big as she’s going to get, not that it bothers you. You jot this down in your tiny notepad, along with the measurements and weight you took this morning. You needed to add this information to your six-month report.
With a tired sigh, you stand from your desk. Work had been hell this week, and you were excited to go home and relax with your fluffy. Despite never planning to own one, especially with everything you see and hear at the lab, Jessabelle had become your whole world.
She was easily able to comfort you no matter what mood you were in, and even simply watching her experience the world made your heart flutter like a proud parent.
With a stretch, you move to pack up your briefcase with any work you’ll need for the weekend— just because you leave the lab, it doesn’t mean you’re finished with it. You grab the lab coat from the back of your chair and tug it over your shoulder then turn and exit your office.
A few forced goodbyes to colleagues you could really care less about—only saying goodbye for the social etiquette—and you’re finally out the door. Thirty minutes of driving and you arrive at your home, pulling into the driveway and shutting off your vehicle.
Upon entering the house, you can already hear stirring in the safe room. Tiny hooves are pitter pattering across the soft carpet and tapping at the door in anticipation. You take a few moments to get into more comfortable clothing and wash away the day’s makeup before approaching said door.
You can see tiny magenta hooves poking out at you from underneath, like a cat trying to get through a closed door. Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with a big smile and blue eyes, your shin is already being hugged to the best of the tiny filly’s abilities.
“Mummah!! Mummah…home!” she chirps in a sing song voice, giving a happy squeak as you bend down and scoop her up.
“Yes, Jesse, Mummah’s home,” you reply, petting her dusty rose mane and scritching her little ears.
“J…jebbe ma’ cheep gou poopies!!”
A glance to the litter box confirms her statement, and she’s rewarded with a belly rub.
“Good girl, Jesse-bear! Are you ready for dinner?”
You can feel her tiny tail wagging against you, her head shooting up in anticipation.
“N-nummies? cheep Am….h…hungie!”
You chuckle at her broken English— even more broken than the average fluffy’s. Chalk that up to your company meddling with DNA that’s already barely competent.
With a soft sigh, you turn on your heel and carry the fluffy into the kitchen. Despite what Hasbio™ says, you find confining your filly to her safe room when you’re home to be distasteful. You’re fully capable of watching her, plus your entire house has been baby proofed. She enjoys spending time with you, so locking her away just seems cruel.
She’s set down in front of her bowl—a secondary one you keep in the kitchen for dinner. You take said bowl and move to fill it with highly nutritious, organic kibble. You pause to open the fridge, removing a small bottle of all natural mare milk and setting it into a water bath you’ve prepared to warm up. Once room temperature, you mix the two together into a delicious meal and set it in front of your fluffy to enjoy.
“Fhank…chirp mummah!!” she peeps, digging in.
While she’s nearly mare age, you find that her underdevelopment has left her lacking nutrients-wise, so you tend to give her at least one meal with fluffy milk in order to make up for it.
Besides, you learned the hard way that she can’t handle most fluffy staples— generic brand kibble or even sketties. Her stomach is just far too sensitive for that. You don’t mind, though. You’d do anything to keep her happy and healthy. Plus, you make decent money at the lab, so cost is hardly a factor.
You make yourself something to eat and the two of you dine together. You vent to her about your day, and though you know she can’t comprehend your words her empathetic expression shows that she’s at least recognizing your emotions. The two of you finish eating and, after a quick clean up of her messy face with a warm towelette, you retire into the living room to watch a movie and relax.
You don’t allow FluffTV in your home— too much misinformation and corporate propaganda for your liking. Instead, you settle for an old Disney movie. Jessabelle seems to like those, though, like always, she falls asleep halfway through.
With a soft sigh, you watch the remainder of the movie yourself, only stirring from your comfortable position to carry your filly to her nest in her safe room. With a gentle kiss and a soft “good night” you flick on the nightlight and exit the room. You head into your bedroom to watch shitty reality tv and begin writing up your report.
