>Be Melinda.
>Be an old woman. Your children barely speak to you anymore, and your grandchildren are spoiled little gits that only play videogames.
>Your Fluffies are your reason for living now. Putting them through the breeder shows gives you something to reach for, a reason to get out of bed and not lie there and wait for death to take you from this bland, lonely life.
>Fudge and Caramel, your two remaining Fluffies, are dancing together on the carpet infront of the television, and you smile as you watch the dark chocolate-brown Unicorn, Fudge, and the bright yellow Earth Fluffy, Caramel, hug each other and cheer as the children’s show they are watching shift to a new story.
>Ding-dong, ding-dong.
>What in the…
>It takes a while for you to get up and get over to the door, but thankfully whoever it is doesn’t hammer the doorbell.
>Oh, you hope they’re still there, you’re so lonely, and you’ve got a pot of tea to share…
>Open the door… oh. Oh it’s that fat, hairy yeti of a man that lives next door.
>And he’s got a green Fluffy in his… it couldn’t be!
>“Ah, Melinda? Hey, it’s me, Tom, from next door. Uh… I think Mint managed to find her way home.” He rumbles, looking down at the Fluffy cradled in one arm, with three tiny fluffy foals peeping sleepily in a small wicker basket lined with paper-towels.
>She’s battered and worn, and she’s been bred, and not to a stallion with the correct bloodlines, but you don’t care.
>Wordlessly reaching for the Fluffy, you pick her up and hold her to you in a hug, shaking and crying as Mint grabs onto you and babbles how she’s missed you so much, how she has babies now, and could you please help her teach them how to be good fluffies.
>After a minute or so, you remember that Tom is still standing there, holding the foals and looking all kinds of awkward, before you thank him profusely and tell him to come in.
>Fudge and Caramel take a few seconds to recognise Mint, then pile onto her with hugs, shouting that their friend is back, and then have fits of delight at the sight of her babies.
>The more that Mint talks, the more you’re convinced that this really is the Mare you lost to those filthy, nasty Ferals. Against all odds, she’s back home, safe and sound.
>She’ll never win you any awards again, and her babies will have to be desexed, but your family is whole again.
Several weeks later…
>Be Melinda, again.
>Be old, living alone with your Fluffies.
>Pedigree Fluffies, mind you.
>Won some awards with your original Fluffy, Mint, but there was an… incident.
>Fluffies that get ;covered’ by Ferals aren’t permitted to compete in the Fluffy-Judging events. Stupid rule, but there it is, a hold-over from some ancient by-law from the very oldest horse-shows, a load of petty, superstitious nonsense.
>A few weeks ago, your neighbour who lives in an old house with stained-glass windows turned up on your doorstep with your precious Mint in his arms, and three babies nursing from her teats.
>She was malnourished, her fluff was ragged and dirty and her ears were tattered, but a quick trip to the Vets confirmed, with the help of the tracking chip in the back of her head, that this was indeed your beloved Mint.
>You were so delighted to have her back, you didn’t care that she wasn’t show-worthy anymore. Mint might not be able to win you any more ribbons or trophies, but the fact she was back eased a great deal of your guilt over not being able to pick her out amongst the scrum of nasty, filthy Ferals.
>Her babies … will never win any awards, not with their pedigree, but they are adorable and loyal companions. The little grey Pegasus Colt is quite the charmer, in particular. So glad you had him gelded early, he’ll be sweet and gentle for the rest of his life without second-stage puberty giving him the infamous sex-drive of an ungelded Fluffy Stallion.
>Your other Fluffies are happy to have other companions as well, especially since they are Fluffies whom they feel they don’t have to compete with to be prettier so they can be picked for the ‘Shows’.
>Mint serves well as the groomer and attendant of the pregnant Mares, and the fact she’s still your favourite even if she isn’t show-worthy anymore stops the more petty Fluffies from bullying her, and her stories of the horrors of the Feral Herd and the outside world quickly stopped the whining from a few of the younger Fluffies who dreamed of ‘freedom’.
>Right now, however, you’re smiling as you watch your neighbour’s cat jump the fence and come running because Mint is hollering for him.
>Seems a friendship was made there. Giant, snaggle-toothed cat with a massive fur-coat that tolerates Fluffies, go figure.
>Now, where did you put that camera…
>Be Clog.
>God-damned Mint the Fluffy is calling for you again.
>You like a good grooming as much as the next Cat, but seriously, ALL DAY LONG, she calls for you and babbles about how she wants you to play with her.
>You are a Cat. You eat, you sleep, you play, you sleep, you sleep, you stretch, you sleep and then you’ll maybe sleep again before repeating the cycle.
>Fluffies just meander through the day in a chaotic muddle…
>And if you don’t go, she doesn’t shut up.
>Literally all day long, calling for you.
>Sonnova…
>There’s the old Human smiling at you as you pad across the grass towards the small cluster of rabbit hutch-like structures these Fluffies live in, with garishly bright colours splashed everywhere and Fluffies inanely chattering to the point your ears start to hurt… until they see you.
>These Fluffies are smart enough to see you as a potential threat. Not Mint, though, nor her kittens. All four of them cheer and charge you, hugging you and praising you for being soft and cuddly.
>Hnnnnnngh.
>At least Mint shuts up while she’s grooming you…
>The little grey kitten isn’t so little anymore. And he’s lost his balls too.
>Welcome to hell, kid.
>You’d ask what he did to deserve it, but that’s kind of a touchy subject. And he doesn’t speak Cat either.
>You do wonder what Mother thinks of her new collar…
>Be Walnut.
>Your legend has grown in the telling as the Herds met, talked and traded, and now your Herd numbers over two hundred Fluffies.
>Walnut the Unbreakable. Walnut the Unstoppable. Walnut, breaker of Special-Lumps. Walnut the Cat-Fighter.
>Today, with a Herd bigger than anything the Old Fluffies can remember, you will march on that backyard, surround that infernal cat, bury it alive in Sorry Poopies, and then you’re going to take back Mint and give her the special-ist Special Huggies of her life.
>Getting everyone through the hedge of hibiscus bushes takes a while, but it’s worth it.
>Yet there’s no sign of the giant, fluffy Kitteh-Munsta that ravaged your face and belly. Only a small, calico cat giving you all an evil look from the back step, a thick yellow collar around her neck.
>Hells, she’s smaller than you!
>“Come out! Kitteh-Munsta, come out! Waw’nut is weady! Come an’ haf wongest sweepies!” You bellow furiously, and your Herd cheers, whipped into a frenzy.
>You are Walnut the Unbreakable. And they believe, they know, that they are about to see you kill a Kitteh-Munsta before their eyes.
>For several moment, there’s nothing, no response, and then the small calico cat starts jumping down the steps, hissing at you.
>“Wook! De Kitteh-Munsta so scawedies dat it nu come out! Onwy send wittwe weak Kitteh-Munsta!” You laugh, and the Herd laughs with you. “Waw’nut gon’ cwush dis Kitteh-Munsta, den we gon’ weave Sowwy Poopies aww ovah hewe!”
>Emboldened by the massive Herd at your back, you put your head down and charge the Kitteh-Munsta, confident your size will win, when the damn thing leaps over you, spread-legged and yowling at the top of it’s lungs.
>You turn to face it… and feel a horrible pain in your side! The Kitteh-Munsta attacked you from the side, has dug it’s claws into your back and fluff and is snapping at your throat even as it’s back legs dig deep into your flesh to secure it’s hold.
>“So-Sowwy Poopies! Huwwy!” You scream. This isn’t supposed to happen! The other Kitteh-Munsta just kicked and scratched you, this one is going to crush your throat!
>But the Herd just stands there and cheers, urging you onwards to kill the Kitteh-Munsta.
>On the grass the two of you thrash, you falling over and trying to crush the Kitteh-Munsta under you, the Kitteh-Munsta tearing out mouthfuls of your Fluff before it’s fangs reach your throat… and then it’s mouth clamps down around your neck.
>The cheering takes a while to die down as the Herd watches their champion, their saviour, thrash and kick on the ground as the Kitteh-Munsta suffocates him, glaring evilly at them before Walnut the Unbreakable finally goes limp, and then the tiny cat starts to drag the much larger Fluffy away, back to the house, and under the steps.
>“Nu. NU! Was nu supposed to be dis way!” A Toughie howls in despair, as most of the Herd slowly, sadly shuffles away out of the yard, with only the die-hard followers left behind. “Waw’nut, nu, Waw’nut was suppose tu kiww de Kitteh-Munsta!”
>“Kiww de Kitteh-Munsta! Kiww it! Avenge Waw’nut!” Another Toughie screams, tears running down his face, as the dozen or so Toughies all turn their grief into rage and charge.
>To the Fluffies outside the fence, it is the sound of the doomed. More lives lost senselessly.
>The howls of anger quickly turn to shrieks of pain and dismay, and when half of the remaining Toughies come scrambling out, covered in bloody claw-marks, they scream for the Herd to run.
>But through the hole in the hibiscus-hedge, the Fluffies see the blood-smeared face of the Calico-coloured cat hissing at them, but when she attempts to follow, her thick yellow collar humms, and her fur stands on end and she yowls in pain before running back to her kills.
>Sobbing and broken-hearted, the Herd turns to go back to the Warren when they hear a rattle, and look up.
>There is the Kitteh-Munsta Walnut faced, massive and unreachable on his perch ontop of the fence that divides the yard next door to the one they just left, his long fluff whipping wildly in the breeze as his eyes gaze down at them.
>Walnut must have lied. The Kitteh-Munsta must have let him go, for if a tiny Kitteh-Munsta could kill him … what could a Kitteh-Munsta as big as that do to the Herd?
>The Herd shivers in fear and starts to trot as fast as they can, still staring at the giant fluffy Kitteh-Munsta until he leaps down, to join his fellow Munsta in the feast no doubt, and then they run, as fast as their stubby little legs will carry them.
>The stories they will tell, of Walnut the Liar and the two Kitteh-Munstas, will keep whole generations of Fluffies from coming down this street ever again.
THE END
