Hunter [by: TheBandersnatch]

Thanks a lot to Virgil,Mister-Shitrat, and CFroste for their help in recovering these from the fluffybooru archive.

I was born to be a hunter. I know it - I can feel it in my bones.

If I had lived 10,000 years ago, I think I would’ve been a champion. A killer of mammoths, bison, and giant sloths, stalking the plains of prehistoric America. Maybe even a hunter of Men, too.

Alas, I live in suburbia with my mom. It’s a good life, though.

Mom has to work weekends, but that’s alright. She’s always home by five.

And she always lets Jane come over. Jane’s this girl who lives across the street, and my mom’s always happy to have her over. Sometimes I think mom loves Jane more than I do; she always says that Jane keeps me behaved.

But mom heading to work on weekends lets me indulge my favorite…hobby. She trusts me enough to hang around the backyard even while she’s out. That’s where I can always find THEM.

I want to hunt. If I were bigger and older, I’d be hunting deer in the forest. But in the suburbs, you work with what you have.

It used to be just the neighborhood squirrels, birds, or the odd raccoon. They gave me plenty of sport, and I respected them. They were God’s creatures, and I honored that by giving them honorable deaths. Those who were fast and wily enough to get away got my salute - survival of the fittest, after all.

But they were something else. They were phantoms at first - I thought I was hallucinating when I’d see technicolor shapes running about the treeline where the backyard met the forest. But then they came.

Fluffy ponies. Who knows where they came from? Mom said that they’re toys, but I knew they are alive, in a way. They breath, eat, fuck, and shit like the birds and squirrels do. But they talk, and it’s disturbingly human.

Thankfully, they seem to give everyone else the creeps too. The neighborhood kids would scold me when they’d find me with a dead mouse or sparrow, but no one cared at all when the fluffies died.

Mom even beat one to death with a spade when she caught it shitting on the porch. I offered to help, but she just tussled my hair and told me that she could handle it.

I see one in the yard now. Its fur is a particularly irritating shade of purple, with a bright green mane. It’s plump - you figure that it’s a stray, or a feral who’s particularly good at foraging (or begging) for food. It shuffles over to one of mom’s tomato plants and starts eating.

“Nummies! Gud nummies!”

The creature chows down on mom’s prized tomatoes. She’ll be pissed. Worse, it starts singing to itself.

"Tawo num nummies

Bwing to smol babbehs

Be a gud daddeh

Hewp speciaw-fwiend!"

I take the long path around the side so I can use the trees as cover. The soil masks my footsteps. I’ve learned that these things have terrible peripheral vision since their stubby necks and squat bodies don’t let them look around and keep watch.

Getting closer now. The fluffy is still humming to itself, but it looks like it’s gathering a bunch of tomatoes too, to bring to its “special-friend” and its babies.

I unsheath my weapons. The neighborhood kids like to use slingshots or BB guns. The adults use bats or shovels. I prefer something more intimate.

Daggers, in both of my hands. Sharp enough that I can slice these things open with ease, but short enough that I can do it without nicking any vital organs or arteries. I like seeing them suffer.

Right behind it now. It sees me.

“Hm? Who dewe? SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-”

Too late. I sink my knives into its sides and start cutting it open.

“HUUHUU NUUUUU! NUUUU HUWT TAWO! SCREEEEEEEE! WOWSTEST OWWIES!”

But I don’t kill it. I pull some of its guts out and spread 'em on the ground, but I don’t kill it. I’ve learned one trick that’s particularly useful with this quarry: wound one and make it scream, then the rest will come.

“HUUUHUUUHUUUUU…HEWP TAWO PWEASE! ANYFWUFFY HEWP TAWO!!!”

I lie back in wait. Soon another fluffy carrying two foals on its back arrives.

“SPECIAW-FWIEND?! SPECIAW-FWIEND! COWKY HEWE!!!”

“HUUUHUUUU HEWP TAWO PWEASE”

“COWKY GIB HUGGIES! DEN WE WUN!”

The other fluffy, a green pegasus with a red mane, starts hugging Taro, as if that’ll help put his guts back into his stomach. The two foals, one white and one orange, start chirping while riding Corky’s back.

I double back around and sneak up behind Corky.

“SPECIAW-FWIEND WOOK OUT! NUUUU!”

Too late again. I swat the two foals off the mare’s back, both landing on the grass with soft thuds. I grab the mare’s tail and rip it off, while jabbing its back with my knife. Next, I land a punch right in the center of its torso - I’ve found that hitting its spine at just the right spot will paralyze its legs. Once again, it works.

Now I’m left with a gutted, bleeding stallion; a paralyzed mare, and two foals with broken legs.

I start with Taro. I stab his scruff with one of my knives and start dragging him to the garage.

“MUNSTAH PWEASE NU MORE OWWIES FOW SPECIAW-FWIEND AND BABBEHS! HUWT TAWO IF WANT BUT PWEASE PWEASE WET SPECIAW-FWIEND AND BABBEHS GO!”

I don’t listen. Can’t even understand its babbling anyway. I set it down in the garage and slash it in the face a few times. The last two swipes take his eyeballs, which I start rolling around.

“SCREEEEEEEE! NUUUU HUUUU HUUUU TAWO NEE’ SEE-PWACES! NU SEE NO MOWE HUUUU HUUUU”

Jane comes in from the other door and asks me what the hell I’m doing. I tell her, “honey, isn’t it obvious?” She says “good point” then follows me out to the other three.

Corky’s still trying to flee by wriggling like a worm. Her two foals are still chirping for help beside her.

“WEGGIES PWEASE! PWEASE WET COWKY WUN 'WAY FROM MUNSTAH AND HEWP SPECIAW-FWIEND! HUUUHUUU WEGGIES PWEASE…”

She sees Jane and I approach.

“NUUUU! GO 'WAY MUNSTAHS! WEAVE FWUFFY AND BABBEHS AWONE! AM GOOD FWUFFIES AND BABBEHS AM ONWY SMOL BABBEHS!”

Like we care. Jane grabs the two peeping foals and heads off for the house.

I hook a knife into the mare’s legs - they’re paralyzed, so it doesn’t feel anything. It does feel its face dragging on the gravel and pebbles as I pull it towards the house, though.

“SCREEEEEEEEEE! OWWIES!!! EYESIES AND NOSIE!!! PWEASE NU MOWE MUNSTAH!!! HUUUUHUUUU”

By the time I get to the garage, it has some jagged rocks embedded in its face. It’s missing an eye, most of its teeth, and its snout is a mangled mess. Amazingly, the stallion manages to get up and drag itself to the mare.

It chokes out: “speciaw-fwiend…huuhuuu…fwuffy save speciaw-fwiend and babbehs…jus’ nee’ huggies to take owwies 'way!”

Jane and I watch hidden in a corner while the mare licks at the stallion’s guts, trying to fix it. Meanwhile, the stallion and foals are desperately trying to prop the mare’s legs up.

“Wai speciaw-fwiend weggies nu wowk huuhuuu”

We hear the door open, so we go to greet mom.


Another weekend workday. Sigh. You park the car outside and head in.

I see Jane come up to greet me.

“Oh hey Janie! Didn’t know you were here. Guess you and Robby had a lot of fun today, huh?”

She greets me but doesn’t say anything. Then she walks back to the open garage door.

“Huh. Odd.”

I go in and see Jane and Robby standing over…shit.

They’re standing over two bleeding fluffies and two chirping foals.

“What the hell did you guys do?!?!”

Yet that little bastard Robby just stares at me, looking real accomplished and proud of himself.

“Why the fuck would you guys do this.”

“Oh.”

I look back into the garden and see that the shitrats had gotten into my plants. Only some of the tomatoes have been eaten - Robby and Jane must’ve gotten to them before they ate the rest.

“Huuuuhuuuuu hoomin mummah pwease hewp fwuffy and babbehs! Pwease!”

The male fluffy, missing both its eyes and with its intestines all over the floor, is barely even moving. It just keeps gasping in between sobs while it voids all of its shit and piss all over the floor.

The mother fluffy is still alive, but its legs are splayed uselessly beside it. Its shitrat babies are still chirping and peeping for help.

“Hoomin mummah save babbehs from munstahs pwease…”

It looks up at me, one eye socket bleeding and the other eye overflowing with tears.

I just make a face at it and carry it off to the garbage can.

“NUUUUU NU UPSIES BWING FWUFFY BACK TO BABBEHS! PWEASE! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Its screeching reaches a crescendo before I throw it in the trash and shut the lid. Good riddance. As I walk off, I can still hear thrashing and sobbing coming from the mare. If it’s lucky, the garbage collectors will come tomorrow, and it’ll be crushed underneath a mountain of trash. If it’s unlucky, the garbagemen will decide to come next week, so it’ll die a slow death by thirst.

I go back to the foals. Robby and Jane are still just standing there, looking all proud of themselves. I sigh. I guess they did do good today, even if they made a mess.

“Good boy. Good girl.”

I reach down to pet my ginger kitty and his calico friend, rubbing behind their ears and under their chins. They like that. It’s ridiculous how cats can be so adorable yet be such vicious killers.

“So, who wants boiled foals for dinner?”

I carry the chirping foals off to the kitchen, while Robby and Jane run after me since they know they’ll be in for a treat later.

28 Likes

Good kitties. I wonder, did you intentionally not use the fluffy-vs-animal tag?

5 Likes

Yes :wink: Would’ve given it away too easily.

7 Likes

best cats <3333

4 Likes

This is great and incredibly well written.

3 Likes

Love it I’m really glad they found this story!

4 Likes

“I use twin daggers” so they are anthro cats ok

3 Likes

Really nicely wrote! At first it reads as a cringy teens POV but the ending reveal was so well done. Bravo!

4 Likes

Wow this was brutall I didn’t get they were cats at first

4 Likes