>Idiot, thinking he could lie to you.
>You’ve had your eye on ‘Chip’ for some time now, knowing he was going to try something.
>Low-ranked Stallions always try something. Either they try to get Special Huggies without permission, or try to steal a Mare away to start their own Herd, or try to challenge you for leadership of the Herd.
>If there wasn’t such an endless supply of such no-hopers, you’d be worried, but there’s always another Stallion eager for a safe Herd and a chance to be a Toughie, that even if you lost most of your Toughies, you’d be able to replace them within a few days, if not from your own Herd’s ranks, then by taking them by force from another Herd.
>You’re not Walnut the Unbreakable for nothing …
>Also, any complaints about going into the lair of the Kitteh-Munsta swiftly dies in the throats of the Fluffies who would dare speak up when you cough and shoot a pointed look to Chip’s prone form, where the horridly pink Pegasus is lying on his side, back legs splayed out with his front legs reaching down and clutching his flattened special lumps, his eyes rolled back into his head and white foam spilling out of his open, gurgling mouth.
>“Now. We’sa gonna go in dewe, get mah Speshaw Huggies Mawe back, get hew baybehs an’ gif dem tu guud Mawes, den we gon’ gu back tu de Buwwow. Any otha questions?”
>You’re given a flurry of shaken heads from the entire Herd, and you smirk.
>“Guud. Now, fowwow Smawty Fwiend … an’ Waw’nut mean fowwow. Don’ make me wun afta dummeh cow’awds, Waw’nut am angwy 'nuff aw’weady.”
>Now it’s a flurry of heads nodding in agreement.
>It’s good to be the Smarty.
>Whatever else you could say about this green thing, she makes a damn fine pillow.
>Lying under the steps, with your head on her shoulder, watching her kittens nursing softly, it’s all rather peaceful.
>“EDWARD SHINCLAWER THE…”
>Well, almost.
>Damn it, mother, shut up.
>You used to sleep like this with your siblings a lot, before they were taken away.
>Mind you, it was getting a little crowded inside, but still, you miss having other cats around to chase and play and sleep with.
>At least until you hear familiar sounds. Lots of them.
>The Green Fluffy-Thing is deep asleep, and her kittens are, well, kittens, so it falls to you to stand up and look out from under the stairs.
>Oh sweet catnip of toast.
>It’s a fucking army of the damn Fluffy-things!
>Right.
>You’ve had a thoroughly shit day thus far.
>Shit covers a sizeable portion of the backyard.
>There’s vomit in your 2pm napping spot.
>There’s so much chattering from these Fluffy-Things that you feel a migraine coming on.
>And this is your yard.
>You’ve defended it from squirrels, leaves, birds, stray cats and more.
>Like hell these shit-spewing little bastards are wrecking your home!
>Be Walnut, and you’d feel like smacking a Fluffy if the Herd wasn’t already so on edge as things stand.
>Toughies shake with fear as they catch the scent of blood on the grass, and then most of them actually piddle themselves when the Kitteh-Munsta appears, just as large and fluffy and terrifying as Chip had described.
>Behind them, the Scouts keep the Mares, Foals and Fluffy Mummas corralled, but you can see everyone’s poopie-places twitching.
>Right now, they’re more afraid of you than the Kitteh-Munsta, but that could easily change.
>But this isn’t your first Herd, or your first encounter with a Kitteh-Munsta. You know how they think, how they act, and how to keep them away.
>Kitteh-Munstas hate smelling bad. They’ll clean themselves for hours, and they detest water.
>So when you order your toughies to turn their backs to the Kitteh-Munsta, and then order a handful of your Scouts to sneak around the outside of the yard to where the Kitteh-Munsta came out, you do so with a plan.
>You did send your loudest, clumsiest and brightest coloured ‘Scouts’, after all.
>Kitteh-Munstas can’t help but chase things, especially things that run fast and make jerky movements, just like a Fluffy that’s in pain or panicking. They love to chase their prey, then torture them to death.
>You can’t help but chuckle and think “Thank the First Fluffy for desperate stallions like Chip!” as your chosen ‘Scouts’ start their trip around the borders of the grass, too focused on the Kitteh-Munsta to realise they’d have a better chance of hiding if they went behind the bushes, and you see the Munsta’s head turn and lock onto them, making them even more jittery, making them move more and more jerkily, which makes the Kitteh-Munsta pay even more attention to them…
>“Now. We aww gon’ move in swowwy. Nu Fwuffy wuns. Nu Fwuffy gon’ tu wun 'way. Kitteh-Munsta chase Fwuffies dat wun 'way from de hewd.” You caution the Herd, as you all start to inch forwards towards the steps as the Kitteh-Munsta loses interest in you and drops down onto it’s belly, all but slithering towards your ‘Scouts’, tail held up in the air like a flag. “We’sa gonna get de baybehs, get de Mawe, den swowwy wawk back tu de bushes. Toughies, yuu howd yuu Sowwy Poopies tiww Smawty say. Kittehs hate Sowwy Poopies, an’ nu wiww come neaw dem. Yuu wait tiww Smawty teww yuu tu gif dem, an’ den Kitteh-Munsta get suuu icky dat if hafta gu an’ make itsewf
pwetty 'gain.”
>Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.
>Slowly, the steps to the Human’s house get closer, as you hear the terrified sobbing of your Scouts get louder as their fear of the Munsta finally overpowers their fear of you, and they scatter as the Kitteh-Munsta’s angry yowling fills the air as it takes after the slowest of the Scouts.
>Foal’s play. While it’s eating that Scout, you’ll recover your Special Huggies Mare, give her to the best Mares in your Herd to bribe them into complacency and keep your Toughies satisfied with a Mare that can’t say no to their advances.
>Perfect.
>“NO! NO! GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE! NO!” You are ‘Clog’ and you’re slapping the hell out of the latest Fluffies to run into your yard, the yellow-and-brown Fluffy-Thing sobbing pitifully as you snap it’s head back and forth with your large paws before you abandon it, the sudden bitter stench of urine making you leap away as the sheath between it’s hind legs sprays piss all over it’s owner.
>Disgusting! Absolutely horrid, vile, disgusting creatures! Ugh!
>All of them stink to high heavens now, but they’re beating a retreat for the back fence, at least. Now where is…
>“NUUU! NUUU! NU TAKE MAH BAYBEHS ‘GAIN! NU WAN SPESHAW HUGGIES! NU WAN GU WIT’ MEANIE FWUFFIES 'GAIN! WAN’ GU HOME TU MUMMY!”
>Fuck, your ears!
>Wait, that sounded like the Green-Thing … oh crap!
>The bulk of the wretches snuck up and are clustered by the steps to the house, right where the Green-Thing and her kittens were asleep!
>Son of a… you’ve been played! By these useless, foul-smelling Fluffy-Things! Auuuuugh!
>Full of fire and fury, you rush towards the cluster of jeering, laughing Fluffy-Things, swearing at the top of your lungs as your mother shouts advice on how to disembowel them.
>Not now, Mother!
>Be Walnut, and you’re starting to get annoyed.
>The distraction seems to be holding up well, but you can’t really see because the Herd has clustered around you for safety, and Mint has put her whole body into the opening under the stairs, preventing you from getting under there with her and then pushing her out, unless you risk pushing her in first, and possibly squashing her babies, which you need to keep the more vocal Mares happy with you.
>Damn stuuuuuuupid domestic.
>Humans don’t care about Fluffies, you did her a favour, taking her into your Herd. She’s had babies because of your efforts, and they’ve gone to good Fluffy Mummas who train them to be good Feral Fluffies.
>Besides, you give awesome Special Huggies. She should be proud. She should be thanking you.
>You and a Toughie had grabbed big mouthfuls of the Special Huggies Mare’s fluff and are trying to drag her out, when the Herd starts to collectively shriek in terror.
>Abandoning your mouthful of fluff, you stand up on your hind-legs and look around and oh special huggies you sideways, the Kitteh-Munsta didn’t eat the Scouts, it’s instead come back to the Herd, puffed up with it’s fluff standing on end, so it looks even bigger, and is yowling at the top of it’s lungs, bearing those long, white fangs just inches from your Herd, who have forgotten your advice and are climbing all over each other to get away.
>A few of the Toughies have made their Sorry Poopies, but it’s all gone off to the sides, missing the Kitteh-Munsta by a wide margin.
>And your Toughies and Scouts are scrambling over the top of the Mares and Fluffy Mummas to get away, leaving them exposed, sending the few babies your Herd boasts tumbling to the ground, and the Mares franticly batter at any Fluffy who comes close to them as they struggle to pick up their precious offspring before they are trampled!
>FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!
>You can replace Stallions easily enough, but Mares are a problem! You only brought them because you needed to find more grass-nummies away from the Safe Place, because hungry Mares can strip what little, bitter grass grows in the Park away in minutes, but you had hoped the Scouts would do their part and die slowly, letting the Herd reclaim the Special Huggies Mare without contact with the Kitteh-Munsta!
>Shouting and bopping noses, you manage to corral a few Stallions and roar into their faces, reminding them of who they should fear, and force your way through the Herd to confront the Kitteh-Munsta, shouting that the Stallions need to stand firm and protect their Special Friends and Families.
>Most don’t listen to you, bucking and kicking and biting in their frenzy of fear to get away, but a few rally and join you, awkwardly turning around and shuffling backwards towards the Kitteh-Munsta, asking when they should use their Sorry Poopies.
>The Kitteh-Munsta yowls and swipes at a Toughie who got too close, and you grimace as you hear the Stallion’s scream of pain, and spot the shredded remains of his special-lumps, spurting blood into the air.
>And just like that, your attempt to salvage the situation falls apart as your remaining Toughies see the damage the Kitteh-Munsta inflicted to their friend, and decide they value their special-lumps more than their place in your Herd.
>Now it’s just you, half a dozen Fluffies who had their legs broken in the scrum and are dragging themselves away, screaming blue murder as their broken bones grate against each other, and a Kitteh-Munsta that is glaring daggers at you.
>Oh poopies, you’ve got a tuft of the Special Huggies Mare’s fluff caught between your teeth…
>“MREOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWRRRR!”
>Be Mint, peering around the corner of the stairs that form the room of your Safe Place.
>The Kitteh-Fwiend just drove off the entire Herd of meanies, saved you and your babies, and is currently bouncing across the grass with that horrible brown Smarty, Walnut, yowling at the top of his lungs and kicking with his hind-legs, even as he wraps his fore-legs around Walnut’s shoulders and bites at the Smarty’s face and ears.
>And Walnut, that horrible, implacable Stallion, pounds away with his own hooves, but you know it’s not nearly enough to hurt a Kitteh-Munsta, just like Chip couldn’t hurt the Kitteh-Fwiend with his hooves.
>Back and forth, over and over, the two roll and bounce across the back-yard, fluff flying from Walnut as the Kitteh-Fwiend’s claws dig deep, until they bounce into a pile of Sorry-Poopies, and the Kitteh-Fwiend shrieks loudly and releases Walnut, jumping away and rolling on the grass in desperation.
>Walnut staggers to his feet, glares at the Kitteh-Fwiend, then you, then spits and runs for the hibiscus bushes, as your friend tries desperately to rub the Sorry-Poopies off his back.
>You stand there, tears in your eyes as the sting of having mouthfuls of fluff torn off your side and the yanking of your ears and tail linger on, but your heart is full of hope.
>You are free.
>Walnut ran away because even that tough, nasty Fluffy couldn’t beat the Kitteh-Fwiend.
>The entire Herd went to pieces the instant the Kitteh-Fwiend bared his fangs at them.
>Your’re free of that Herd forever.
>Now, you just need to wait till the Kitteh-Munsta’s Human comes home, and he can put you over the fence, and you can be with your Mummy again!
>When the Kitteh-Munsta stops rubbing his back all over the grass, you’ll go hug him and praise him and groom him, like a good friend should!