You’re sitting on the front porch of your house, enjoying the breeze. It’s the first day of a three day weekend, and you have absolutely nothing to do, so you crack open another beer, lean back, and relax.
It’s amazing how you acquire a taste for things; the first time you tried beer, it tastes like someone had pissed exuberantly in a bottle of stale, moldy Wheaties. Now you can appreciate it for what it is.
Ah, this is perfect. Sunny with only a few clouds in the sky, a gentle breeze blowing, and a ceiling fan on your porch adding to the effects of the breeze. You take another sip of beer and close your eyes. You never want this perfect moment to end.
“Dummeh hoomin! Dis smawty wand nao! Weaf now, ow get bigges owchies!”
Aaaaaand all good things must come to an end. You open your eyes and sit up. There’s five fluffies standing at the foot of your porch, and one of them, a brown thing with a mop of orange hair on its head and a slightly darker orange tail is glaring at you and puffing its cheeks up. You’re not sure, but you suspect it’s trying to appear inimidating. It’s not working.
This is also the first time you’ve seen fluffies in person. You don’t know anyone who owns one, and this far far north the harsh winters basically annihilate every feral in existence. You’ve heard all about them, of course, but you’ve never seen one in person.
This one, apparently, is attempting to annex your yard. Or maybe your porch. Or both? You’re not sure, and you’re honestly uncertain if the fluffy itself knows.
“What do you want?”
The lead fluffy rolls its eyes as if you’re stupid (aren’t these things so dumb they drown if you give them a water bowl to drink from? Or is that only some of them? Whatever.) and repeats himself.
“Dummeh hoomin! Dis smawty wand nao! Weaf now, ow get bigges owchies!”
“No. This is my house, my porch, and my lawn. I’m not going anywhere. Get lost.”
He shifts his weight from one set of hooves to another, then looks at the other fluffies accompanying him. You’re not going according to script apparently, and he doesn’t know what to do next. One of the other fluffies stomps a hoof suggestively, and the leader nods and glares at you again, puffing up his cheeks. Geez, he looks ridiculous when he does that!
“Dummeh hoomin no weaf?”
“No. Now get lost.”
“Den get bigges owchies!”
You watch as he struggles to get up the steep steps of your porch, finally gets up to your level, and waddles over to you. You’re sitting on a porch swing with your feet up on the railing. The lowest part of your body is two feet above his head. He glares at you and hops up and down (getting all of an inch or two off the ground) trying to reach you and grunts in effort and frustration. You reach down and flick him on his nose.
“Owies! Why huwt smawty nosie?!”
“Dude, seriously? You come up to my house and tell me to leave so you can take it, then you ask why I flicked you in the nose? How stupid are you?”
“Dummeh! Smawty am smawty fwuffy, nuh too-pid!”
Your pour your beer on him and he yelps, waddles away, falls off the porch while trying to navigate the steps, and runs away crying while his four butt-buddies follow him. You lean back and go back to work on your beer, glad to be free of the pest.
Ten minutes later, and the stupid animals are back.
“Dummeh hoomin! Dis smawty wand nao! Weaf now ow- EEEEP!”
You pour more beer on him. He shakes wildly trying to get it out of his fluff. Then he starts shouting again.
“Yu nu weaf, yu get sowwy poopies!”
And with that, the walking dust mop promptly shits all over your porch.
“WHAT THE HELL, YOU LITTLE BASTARD?!”
He blows a raspberry at you and prances around the porch, gloating at the steaming pile of shit he just sprayed onto the polished wood of your porch and the fancy welcome mat that says ‘Come Back With A Warrant’. You paid twenty whole bucks for that thing.
You get up from your seat and step off the porch, and the stupid fluffy leader starts cheering and dancing, gloating that he made you leave. The other four fluffies politely step out of your way. You retrieve the water hose, turn it up full-blast, and spray both the shit and the fluffy leader off your porch.
“AAAAAH! Nuu! Nuuuu! Wa-wa bad fow fwuffies! Cowd, cowd! Nu mowe wa-wa, pwease! Aaaaah!”
You turn the hose off and walk back onto the porch, the other fluffies again stepping aside to let you pass. You sit on your swing and give a dirty look to the soaking wet fluffy you literally blasted off your porch. It’s making a weird ‘huuhuu’ noise you interpret as crying.
“Now get lost! If I ever see you again, you’re gonna regret it!”
The wet fluffy waddled off down the sidewalk, crying and generally feeling sorry for itself, and its four buddies silently followed. You sigh in irritation. It’s lunch time. Time for a sandwich. You head inside, get white bread, ham, mustard, dill pickles, purple onions, bacon, and Cholula hot sauce and combine them to create a sandwich that is glorious to behold. Putting all the sandwich fixings away, you grab another beer from the fridge and step out onto the porch with your lovely sandwich.
“Aw come on, seriously?!”
The fluffies are back. The still-damp brown-and-orange leader is standing on your porch, puffing his cheeks up. His four backup dancers are sitting on their haunches on the sidewalk, watching.
“Dummeh hoomin! Smawty nu gu easy on yoo nu mowe! Yoo haf chance, now smawty nu be mista nice smawty nu mowe! Dis smawty wand! Weaf now ow get bigges owchies!”
“All right hairball, you wanna play a game?”
“… Pway?”
“Yeah, let’s play a game! It’s called Go Fuck Yourself. You go first.”
You kick him as hard as you can and send him flying off your porch; he hits the sidewalk and rolls, barely missing his four buddies as they jump back out of the way, and flops into the street. He moans and slowly gets back to his feet while you go to town on your delicious sandwich. Mmmm!
“D-dummeh hoomin! Smawty gif bigges owchies fow dat!”
You get up and kick him again.
“Owchies! Nu huwt fwuffy! Fwuffy sowwy, wet yoo keep wand!”
“Well, that’s mighty generous of you, oh great and powerful conqueror! Now get lost!”
He waddles away painfully, followed by his four silent compatriots. You’re able to finish your sandwich in peace.
Hmmm. How about a little music? You go inside, open the front windows of your house, turn on the stereo, and sit down on the porch swing again.
“Countin’ flowers on the wall, that don’t bother me at all. Playin’ solitaire till dawn, with a deck of fifty-one. Smokin’ cigarettes and watchin’ Captain Kangaroo, don’t tell me, I’ve nothin’ to do!”
Man, what a beautiful day!
“Dummeh hoomin! Smawty am gif yoo bigges owchies now!”
What the hell!? This little retard is persistent, isn’t he? You get up to kick him again and he sidesteps to avoid the blow.
“Hey, what’s that over there?”
He turns to look where you’re pointing and you kick him, sending him sailing across the yard, spraying shit the entire way.
“Dumbass.”
The other four fluffies quickly step out of the way for you as you return to your porch. What does it take to get this little shithead to just leave you alone?
Not even five minutes later, you groan as you see the little fucker painfully waddling back to your porch, stopping to… is he hugging himself? several times on the way. The other four move aside to let him get to your porch, but otherwise make no move to assist him. Actually, they haven’t said or done ANYTHING other than watch this spectacle, have they?"
“D-dummeh hoomin! Dis smawty wand n-now! W-w-weaf ow ge-”
“Hey! You four fluffies!”
They glance around, as if expecting you to be talking to someone else.
“Yeah, you! Are you with this idiot?”
They look at the brown-and-orange fluffy and shrug.
“Da fwuffy nu wif us! We jus watch becuss him funneh. He twy take wand at twee houses now!”
They all giggle. The still-damp ‘smarty’ fluffy looks humiliated, an expression I didn’t think a freakish, multi-colored genetically-engineered ‘horse’ was capable of expressing.
“Well you guys seem cool, and I’ve never owned a fluffy before. You wanna stay with me for a while?”
“Yaaay! Fwuffy am haf nyu home! Fwuffy am haf nyu daddeh! Fank you, daddeh, fank you! Wub daddeh!”
They all four prance around and follow you as you walk around the porch, open the gate to your back yard, and let them in before shutting it again. This will be interesting; you’ve never had a fluffy for a pet, never known anyone who owned one, so what the hell? You’ll let these guys live in your backyard on a trial basis; if one or the other party is unhappy with the arrangement, you can just let them go to fend for themselves again. You’re already thinking of all the things you’re going to need, like fluffy kibble, a water bowl- you still have a bowl from when you owned a cat somewhere in the garage, you think- man, you better look this stuff up online if you want to do it right!
“Wait! Smawty am wan wiv hewe! Whu bou smawty?”
“Hell no, you little asshole! Get the fuck off my property before I shoot you with my pellet gun!”
Then you notice that he has prominent, though small, fuzzy balls just below his poop-stained ass and give him a kick right in the nuts that sends him flying again, landing on the sidewalk next to your trash can. His eyes water and he hugs his crotch with his hooves, the wind completely knocked out of him so you don’t have to listen to his whining. After a few seconds he pukes on the sidewalk and flops on his side, shaking painfully. As you step back on your porch to go in the house, you hear one of your new fluffies yell through the fence. It is the most priceless thing you’ve heard all week.
“Smawty, yoo am dumass.”
