My name is Thomas, lame-ass name I know.
I live in a modest house in a not-so-nice suburb (but at least no the ghetto or a trailer park). I still consider myself lucky considering I’m a college dropout in my late thirties and my parents who used to have quite a bit of money lost it all in some half-baked hedge fund that went down.
So today I’m going to my job writing code for some IT consultancy company with middle managers that don’t get you don’t have to defrag a SSD. As I walk out the door and into my front yard towards my banged up but still dependable late-90’s civic when suddenly I feel something tugging at my leg
“Mista! mista pwease be nyu daddeh fo’ mumman an’ babbehs!”
“Oh fuck what?! you are staining my pants with shit!” -was all I managed to reply. What did you expect? I was going to work and I don’t have a lot of office-attire pants. The first thing I though was “oh man not a stray fluffy!” but then I noticed the shit on its hoofs being stained to the sides of my pants’ right leg, and that took prevalence.
“EEEE! bad wowdies! nu say bad wowdies to babbehs! meanie!”
The nerve on this shitrat, this is why I never liked fluffies. You would think the idea of tiny speaking technicolor pseudo-ponies couldn’t fail but it did. These things never clicked with me, I remember being a kid when the first ones came out at insane prices. And even then some part of my brain just rejected the things. It was so goddamn artificial looking you know? is like when you see a dog whose crazy owner dyed it blue or something. You simply know is dyed because there aren’t blue animals (well not mammals at least, and specially not dogs). But these fluffy things…and the fur! you remember when you first touched one after your sister dragged you to one of the hasbio stores. After like 3 hours in line you could finally pet a purple stallion and it felt like that cheap plastic fluffy fabric they use for teddy bears, yet this thing is biological, not a robot!. Then you touched the tiny “wings” on its back, they were like the wings of a little sparrow but instead of feathers it had this rayon-like fur on it with the texture of feathers.
It was so goddamn creepy, and the talking!. It was eerie as fuck how this tiny horse-looking thing started talking like a 3-year old kid with slight mental retardation. Its hard to describe if you never seen one live, its different from a parrot. I never got one, not even after that incident at Georgia when they got out and the price just collapsed. A few years later I had a friend in college who had one, and boy am I glad I never bought it!. It would never shut up, it would never obey. It was a female one, a ‘mare’ and it would never shut up about having ‘babbehs’ as the thing said. It also shat everywhere, and the smell was so horrid even after all these years I can still remember it. After that I left college shit happened and now I’m here. This neighborhood is not overrun by stray and feral fluffies because animal control actually bothers to come here. There was this time I was leaving a store next to an alley and saw a bunch of fluffies near this redhead girl with blue overalls and one of those easy-grabber claws, just metal instead of plastic. She did a number on those shitrats, didn’t even left the tiny “foal” ones alive.
In retrospective I should’ve asked for her company number or something, but now its too late. The shitrats have entered my territory. I’m no abuser and its not illegal to kill these things. Problem is some people think otherwise so they will start an internet witchhunt if they catch you killing one in public which is probably why abusers just take them to a basement or something and keep it private.
So I vigorously shake my leg to get the shitrat off. The mare tumbles backwards and the foals it had on its back tumbled to the ground and started doing this cheep-cheep sound followed by simple complaints like ‘huwties’ and that ‘huuhuu’ sounds all shitrats make, then start walking towards the mare while making puppy eyes. On close inspection the shitstains on my right leg aren’t that bad, I might be able to scrape it and…
“Nuh! nu weave mummah! nee nummies!”
Oh god no! its grabbing my other leg! Now I will definitely need to change, but first
“I’m not your ‘daddeh’ or whatever, and this is my yard so you better leave and take your little rats with you or else I’m calling animal control and they’ll mulch your ass”
“Bu-buh fwuffy nee’ daddeh! nee nummies an an…” -I just walk away back inside while looking at my equally shit-stained shoes and wondering if I would look too out of place going to work in sneakers.
As I unlock the door and scrape the soles of my shoes on the welcoming mat the mare just waddles past me through the crack of the door with its little shitrat foals on its back as I crane my neck and process what just happened.
“Housie! fwuffy haf housie agen! su happy! wewe nummies? nee—EEEEEE!” -I finally snap back to reality and grab the shitrat’s white tail. Fortunately it was the very end of it which was merely stained with dirt from being dragged through the floor unlike the rest of the tail which was caked on the thing’s shit, some of it still fresh.
As I pull the shitrat mare out it tries to run into the house, sort of clawing at the rug with its hoofs while crying
“Nuh! pwease! wet mummah gu! nee go in housie!”
“That is my house shitrat! MINE! go back outside!” -I say then immediately pull the mare back out the door, its foals once again falling off its back but unfortunately inside my house this time.
“Babbehs! babbehs gu in housie! gu and hideys!”
“Huuhuu scawy!” -said a blue colt while covering its eyes
“Eeep! mummah! nee mummah!” -said a tiny filly while waddling towards its mother outside the door
The other five (yes five, guess this shitrat was breeder material) foals ran on all directions towards the inside of the house. Immediately I stepped inside while closing the door to keep the mare and its filly outside. I take an empty shoebox that was next to the door and toss the crying blue colt inside then go look for the others. Fortunately foals are slow, even when more developed like these ones they move at the speed of a little kitty that’s just learning to walk.
Two went into the kitchen, a yellow filly with wings (what is it they call them? pegasi? something like that) must have picked on some familiar scent since it started yelling "nummies! nummies! nu----EEEEE! as I grabbed it, then I grabbed its red unicorn sister (I think it was a girl, didn’t see any tiny balls).
The other three went into my living/dining/gaming room (don’t have a lot of rooms man). I grabbed a gray colt who was trying to jump into my couch that was far too tall instead of hiding under, dumbass. It had one of those tiny unicorn horns that feel like a dog nail or something, I heard these were supposed to be smarter than average fluffies but I guess that’s just bullshit. I then grabbed a green filly peeking from behind my PC. The last one, an aqua colt with “wings” I didn’t have to find: dumb shit started biting my socks while yelling that I let its “bruddahs” go. Dipshit was the size of a laptop charger, what did it think it could do to me?.
“Meanie munsta! wet babbeh in housie–SCREEEEE!” -it yelled as I grabbed it by one of its tiny back legs and tossed it into the box. These things are fragile so I probably hurt it. “Better then, drives the point home” I thought.
With all six foals in the box I walked back to my door. As I open it and while I was thinking what to say to the mare I saw the bitch bolting towards the opening with the filly on its back. I immediately put my foot in its way to block the entrance.
“Back! back! get back!”
“Nuh! let mummah an’ babbehs in housie!” -it said as it shoved its head between the door and my leg on one side then between the door frame and the other side of my leg trying to squeeze inside.
“Huuhuu cowd! mummah nee wawmies! cowd time soon! bad fo’ babbehs!”
Thank god I was actually planning to do some errands before work so I had some time to spare else I would probably have to let the shitrats stay inside my house and fix whatever mess they do when I got back. “Can’t get late again, can’t lose this job” I say to myself. So I push the mare outside then quickly step out and close the door.
“Nuuuu! wet in! fwuffy nee wive in housie!”
“Look this is MY house! I’m not your owner and you can’t live here so you better leave!” -I say while lowering the box and tossing her foals on the grass
“Nu!”
“What did you say?”
“Nu! fwuffy nu weave! dummeh daddeh gib housie and toysies and nummies NAO!”
As I stand there thinking what I can do besides stomping these rainbow-colored abominations and ending up on the frontpage of reddit together with my dox I hear a voice
“It’s useless man…”
As I turn my head I see an old guy standing on the walkway. He’s easily in his late 60s wearing what it looks like a janitor jumpsuit under an old-ass thenorthface jacket like the ones they sell at walmart.
“What?”
“I said its useless, trying to reason with these things you know. I have some experience with how they work and let me tell ya you are wasting your time son” -he replied
I ignored the mare as it and some of its foals pointlessly tried to push my megalith-sized door (well from their perspective at least) back open.
“So you know about fluffies? how come these things can talk but can’t understand something as simple as staying outside?”
“That’s because they are programmed, is the same reason why they crave human attention and affection or how even as a feral they go ask anyone to be their new owner. They don’t actually understand things they simply go with the code”
“Seriously? how you know that?”
The guy starts looking uneasy, you don’t know if it really knows or if he’s just bullshitthing you
"Look what matters is that you wont talk this fluffy out of it. The…people who created it programmed fluffies to believe humans will take care of it, that we will always help it. And so it kind of feels entitled to a home food and all that, which is why it wont leave. "
“What? but why?”
“Because its a product and a product has to sell. Look you gotta understand these things were simply not designed to live outside at all because it’s so fragile, and its so fragile because they wanted to avoid lawsuits over damages since its a product and not a real animal. Because its weak and gets broken so easily something had to be done to keep warranty complaints to a minimum. See the hoofs? its nothing like a horse’s, its just a leathery pad meant to look like one because a real hoof could be dangerous. If they walk too much on a surface other than hardwood, carpet or some well-kept grass they could get some nasty wounds. Look at that mare banging at your door, see those spots on the hoofs? those are calluses from living outdoors. You probably seen pictures of fluffies on ads right?”
“Yeah, but those are breed fluffies not ferals”
“Its all the same, difference is those are well feed since birth, bathed and combed almost daily, they never even step outside their owner’s home without going inside a pet carrier first. Fluffies were never meant to live on their own, its an artificial pet and was designed from scratch to be a pet. It can’t clean itself, it can barely clean its own foals since it wasn’t designed to take care of them in the first place, that’s why ferals and strays are so filthy. The fact this mare is even alive is practically a miracle”
“Wait, then why don’t they go extinct?”
“See those 7 foals? a litter that size is not that uncommon, why? because they were engineered to reproduce like no other real animal that size. Pregnancy takes from 2 to 3 weeks and a mare can technically get pregnant again the same day it gave birth to foals. This mare trying to get into your house could be pregnant right now. Not even rabbits multiply like this”
"That explains why shitrats are a plague now, whose idea was it? didn’t they see fluffies popping out foals like this would be a problem?
“They were looking at things from a business perspective: the more fluffies breed the less fluffies you need to make new fluffies. Remember how expensive fluffies were?”
“Yeah”
“Well those were sterile, hasbio only had a few fertile ones giving birth inside huge installations”
“I know that part, I saw the History channel special, it was right after some crap about Hitler’s ghost”
“Well that’s why they breed like that, it was about getting the highest yield possible using the least amount of fertile units. Problem is those same units got out when they were never supposed to breed on their own. Now they do and their offspring is fertile as well. The reason why they can survive outside is simply because for every fluffy that dies two more are born.”
“You know I’m really having a hard time getting why they thought making these things was a good idea”
“It wasn’t, it’s was a terrible idea. The guy who came up with the concept clearly knew nothing about genetic engineering or breeding animals and only cared about the idea of making a product that would sell itself. He was a marketer surrounded by yes men”.
“Sooooooo…what you think should I do with these then?”
“Well you got two options: either take them to a fluffy shelter…”
“Can’t, work” -I say making a gesture to where a wristwatch would be if anyone used those anymore instead of just looking at the time on a phone- “Besides I heard local ones are over capacity”.
“…kill it or call an exterminator”
“Nuuu nu huwt! Huuu pwease meanie doowsie wet mummah and babbehs in housie!”
As I ponder the options I see a van with a yellow sign and the letters FC on its side stopping near my house…hey is the redhead chick I saw in the alley!
“Hi, someone called in about some ferals” -said the girl
“That would be me, hey Tom” -said my next door neighbor Andres standing on his yard with a coffee mug on his hand
“Hey Andy, did you call animal control?”
“Yea I saw you dealing with the caballitos, thought you needed some help”
“Thanks I was trying to get them out, like the good-way you know?”
“I do amigo, anyways I’m going back inside, good luck with all…this” -he said while pointing at the fluffies with the mug then walked back inside his house.
I looked back at the girl who was getting some stuff from the back of the van. She had a nametag that said Franklynne (weird name…) but no word about animal control.
“So who sent you?” -I asked as she was coming back with some tools and a bag
“Animal Control, they outsource to us since most of the complaints they get these days are about fluffies”
“Alright, so how are we doing this? I kinda have to go”
“Well I can do it quick and kill them right here or give them poison and we wait, less messy but it takes a while”
“Just…get it over with” -I said
“No problemo!” she said with an odd smile, then took that grabber thing, same one she used in the alley. With the press of a button it shot forward and painfully grabbed the mare’s hind quarters
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Franklynne then pulled the mare out into the grass and stomped it right on its mid section with her boot.
“EEEEEEE haf haf SCREEEEEEE!”
“Well I was right, it was pregnant” -said the old man, pointing at the mare. After Franklynne stomped the mare it went into labor and six new foals came out. - “Too early though, they are moving but there’s no way these foals will survive” - he remarked. And indeed the foals barely had some fur on them, should have stayed in the oven.
“Whoops sorry for the mess! don’t worry I’ll take care of it” she said as she dumped the still alive mare into the bag and used this tiny shovel to pick up the foal fetuses from the grass and toss them in the bag as well. The foals below where in different states of despair: either banging at the door with their tiny soft hoofs, running in circles screaming or just standing there crying over the mare. Franklynne simply picked up each foal and gave them a twist. Some were lucky and got their necks broken and a quick death but most got their bodies twisted instead before being tossed into the bag where they would suffer for hours.
I don’t know if she did it be accident or on purpose…
Each time she did this I could see the old guy wasn’t exactly happy with the situation. I take he used to work with fluffies back in the day and seeing them being destroyed like trash…didn’t sit well with him.
The last foal that blue colt for some reason thought this chick was going to adopt it
“Nyu mummah haf big miwky pwaces!” -it said when she grabbed it. Got a laugh out of me, but the exterminator girl didn’t seem to like what the foal had to say about her rack so instead of a twist she simply crushed the foal in her hand before tossing it with the others and closing up the bag.
“Well that’s all, if you could sign here I’ll be on my way” -said the girl while handing me a tablet with a plastic pen. I signed and she took the bag to the van. I could still hear a few faint “huu” sounds coming from inside it. As she left I turned around to ask something to the old man before going back inside to change my clothes and get to work ASAP, but he was gone.
You used to be Dr. Bouchard, used to go by the nickname “Doc Bob”. Today on the way to one of you part-time jobs you saw your old project running around some kid’s front yard. While you felt bad for the fluffies you really wished your old boss Steve would be alive to see how things turned out.
Then again he was a sociopath so maybe he would be an abuser destroying the very beings he forced us to create…
