“Look, Bixy. Jellyfish!” Holly and her fluffy mare, Bixy, were at the pierside aquarium today. Just some rinky-dink local place: A tourist trap meant for tourists with their bags of salt water taffy and boardwalk prizes underarm.
This place kind of sucked but it was Bixy’s most favorite place ever. Had been ever since she’d been a foal. Holly dipped down beside the stroller her mare was strapped into and carefully helped her out of it and held the fluffy under one arm.
Weetabix stared ahead at the tanks in front of her, one good eye taking in the soft floating shapes drifting within. Though she could no longer move her body (she could no longer even feel it), the mare take great delight internally about the sight.
“Jewwyfishies.” She rasped out in a voice like dry leaves rustling along a walkway. They were her favorite! At home, her saferoom was decorated in a very nice aquatic theme. It even had a big jellyfish pillow that she liked to drag around and beat up when she got rowdy. Well, had liked to.
Bixy was very old now. As mummah gently squeezed one of her hooves, even she could reflect on that. How many fowebbahs? One time she’d asked and though she didn’t remember the number, she remembered Holly saying it was a lot. Deep chocolate hued fur had given way to large splotches of gray, and the luster had given away from her mane and tail. Both had gone frayed and spotty.
Mummah smiled at her, pushed Bixy closer to the tank. She couldn’t tap against it with her hooves any longer but could gently push her tongue out and blip on the glass several times.
“They’re my favorite too, Bixy. Except for mermaids but I don’t think we’ll be seeing any of those.”
Bixy looked up to her owner, her one good eye staring up with acknowledgement. The bad one had gone glassy and stared straight ahead.
“Muumaid. Muumaid pwincess.” She murmured as she was getting strapped back into her stroller.
Holly nodded a bit. “Yup. Just like in your favorite movie.” Not The Little Mermaid. No that would be too nice. Instead it was some insipid knockoff that Weetabix had gotten from the dollar store one day. It was literally called ‘The Mermaid Princess’ and looked as if it had been animated by a guy with one hand and a five dollar budget. How many times had Bixy forced her to sit through that piece of crap?
As they walked through the exhibits to the exit, Bixy piped up from her place in the stroller: “Petties?”
Right. The hands-on experience meant for kids. They could reach in and poke starfish or jostle sea urchins. Maybe even pet a horseshoe crap. Up and out of the stroller once more, Bixy being carefully held under one arm. She gingerly held the mare’s hoof and led it to gently brush up on a starfish.
Though weary sounding, Weetabix gave a delighted giggle and was content with the experience. Instead of putting her back into the stroller, Holly kept her up under one arm and made her way through to the giftshop.
“Do you want a toy, sweetpea?” Holly asked. They had gone here plenty of times and Bixy always made out like a bandit. Keychains, plush toys, even a sea monkey tank one time. She’d been super disappointed to find out they weren’t actually monkeys and hadn’t believed mummah at the shop no matter how many times she got told.
Since the mare could no longer control where her gaze went, Holly had to help her by slowly panning the old girl around in a circle so she could take in all the sights. It didn’t take long for her to find something she could enjoyed.
“Wobstuh? Pweazie?” She asked quietly, and Holly would pluck up the plush she wanted. A lobster that for some reason had a monocle? What kind of a theme was that?
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Weetabix couldn’t truly ‘play’ with her plush but was happy enough to chew on one of the claws after mummah had helped guide it into her kibble hole.
Speaking of her kibble hole. They were going up the boardwalk and there was lots of food stands ready to hawk their wares.
“Want a treat, Bixy?” Holly was thinking she wouldn’t go for it. Fluffies tended to greatly lose their appetites when they were this deep into what was happening to hers. The mare surprised her though.
“Stawbewwy? Pwease?” She was referring to ice cream which is why she always got when going out here on a day trip. The very first time when she was a foal, she’d gotten an entire dish of it to herself and crawled right into the cup. Hugged the mound of sticky pink melting goodness.
The memory brought pinpricks of tears to Holly’s eyes. Yet she resolved herself that she wouldn’t cry.
There would be no such silliness today. Instead, Holly had to carefully angle ice cream into Bixy’s mouth using a tiny wooden spoon. Flapping her tongue against it, she let it melt and slide down. No chewing of course. Working her jaw was too much effort except when speaking.
When Bixy was done (after only a few bites), Holly brought a napkin down and carefully blotted away any smears from her fur. “You’re a li’l piggy.” She said teasingly.
If Holly could have shaken her head you could be sure she would have. “Nu…am fwuffy.”
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They were on the beach now. This place was shitty. Had really gone downhill even since she’d gotten Weetabix into her life. It would have to do though.
It was a weekday, and an off-season one at that. That much was good luck. There weren’t noisy, annoying assholes around to make their lives difficult.
The two were sat down on a ratty old blanket which Holly had spread out, Weetabix propped up on a pillow. Looking out to the waves which lazily crashed to shore, the fluffy gave a wheezing breath.
“Wawa? Pway?” She pondered. They’d played in it plenty of times, Bixy resplendent in perhaps a million floaties.
Holly shook her head. Not to disappoint the fluffy. There was a pretty good reason why, even if she could help keep her aloft safely. “No, hon. Not today. I’m sorry.”
A moment passed where she was afraid it was already too late. That things had progressed past the point they always did. Instead, there was a small snore. Still there, but why not? Weetabix was too stubborn to go that quickly.
Running a hand down Bixy’s back, Holly let her fingers mingle there in the off-color fluff. Tensed up slightly, made for a return on the soothing petting motion.
“You’ve been my best friend for a long time, Weetabix.” She told the fluffy. The snoring stopped. Rattling breath became shorter now. Bixy tried to speak: Holly could see her face twitching slightly. It must have taken so much effort.
“It’s OK, baby. Go to bed.” Holly told her mare. Several moments of unsteady breathing. Holly looked to her fluffy’s eyes. Both had gone glassy and somewhat artificial looking now.
No more snoring. Weetabix had gone somewhat limp, and now her fur felt different. Somehow softer than it had been before. At least, it hadn’t been this soft for years now.
Shifting on the blanket, Holly sat there for perhaps a minute. Wondering if it had finally happened. After a long pace, she resolved herself to find out. Picked up the mare.
Warmth was quickly fading away. There was no certain ‘heaviness’ in her body any longer, and both eyes (while having an adorable shine) were glassy and unfeeling.
Weetabix was no longer a fluffy. No longer resembled a real, living thing. That patchy, graying fur had begun to fill in and shine with new color. Her hooves now felt like squishy vinyl. Wrapping her hands around Bixy’s body, she could feel it. Almost cottony.
Bixy didn’t just resemble a plush toy now. She actually was one. It was so rare. Incredibly rare. Yet if a fluffy loved you enough (and you shared the same sentiment), they would sometimes become like this.
Science had no explanation for it. Much like fluffies existing in the first place, it made absolutely zero sense. Did it need to? Mister Science Man could never figure out why this could happen, because he wouldn’t have the love needed to.
Some people theorized it was because fluffies didn’t want their owners to feel sad. That even if they should have to leave, it was an injustice to their hearts. Their deep affection would let them leave something behind so their mummah or daddeh wouldn’t be too upset by the inconvenience of their deaths.
“I love you, Bixy.” Holly squeezed the plush toy in her arms tight with a hug.
A voice, though tinny as if it were coming from a cheap electronic box, chirruped up at her. Bixy’s voice. “Bixy wub yew, mummah!”
