A continuation of New Lives for Litter Pals Pt 2, although the latter half occurs after the events of Disposable Tools.
Trying something different this time around!
For a second, everything really did feel perfect for Caramel.
Daddeh was right - she didn’t mind the peace and quiet of the compost box. Dark, gentle solitude never felt like a real possibility until he mentioned it. Sure, she could imagine a better life - she had gotten the slightest taste of air conditioning and skettis and soft beds, but those memories were tainted by being tossed from foster family to foster family, always the “poopy-fwuffy” that the children ignored and that the other fluffies pushed around.
It was nostalgic in a way, but it never actually smelled any worse than the alley she was born in, it was never soggier than the cardboard box she grew up in, and she had no wounds for the gnats and flies to land their eggs in. The shit from her upstairs neighbors dropping into the box was, of course, absolutely rancid, but as their diet began to consist of something other than trash and cheap kibble it became more bearable. She always waited until nighttime to actually go in, mixing the compost with her hooves dutifully per daddeh’s instructions. In the morning, she got the same food scraps that everyone else did, and sometimes there were skettis.
Sometimes daddeh would put pieces of cardboard in the box. Caramel would grab it and take it to her little nest, curling up and remembering the songs her mummah sang, reverberating in the soft, insulating layers of a forgotten package. The smell, the scratches, and the gentle warping of the corrugated layers lulled her to sleep each night.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about daddeh. He was nice enough, but there were days when he would greet Caramel with a warm smile, asking her if she was okay in the box, and she always felt inclined to say “yes” even when it was hot and the nitrogen-rich piles of shit from the pillowfluffs upstairs irritated her fragile little hooves. He would tell her to be careful, but that she was doing a good job.
But some days he would open the box and toss the scraps in, asking her the same question but seeming to look right through her, fixated on the piles behind her. She didn’t understand why he was so obsessed with mixing the poopies.
He never seemed angry, he never seemed disappointed, but she kept thinking about what he said when he adopted them - Caramel and the pillows weren’t his pets. They had a job to do, which means they weren’t for huggies and wub. Her gut twisted itself in knots wondering if one day he would tell her she was doing a bad job, and that she had to go back to the shelter.
But these fears vanished when her babbeh fell from the sky. Suddenly, dark solitude felt so, well, dark. What was she doing? Who cared about mixing the dummeh compwost? The light from the top of the box glittered on the seven pastel babbehs who had fallen into the cushioning piles, crying and peeping for someone to love them, and Caramel suddenly realized she had so much love to give, so much love she wanted to give, so much love she never got to give.
But then stupid, bad, meanie daddeh took them away. She flailed against the locked wooden door, banging her head and thrashing her hooves against the ground and flinging shit and decomposed matter about (inadvertently doing quite a good job mixing that day).
“HATECHU! HATECHU! CAWAMEL GOOD FLUFFY! CAWAMEL BUWWIED SO MUCH! CAWAMEL DIG IN DARK POOPY COMPWOST ALL DAY! CAWAMEL DESERVE BABBEHS! CAWAMEL DESERBE WUB! HUUHUU!”
She sobbed, biting the door, biting her hooves, an explosive ball of energy welling in her chest. She was a good fluffy. She did what daddeh said. Those were her babbehs. They weren’t the babbehs of the dummeh piwwow fwuffs above her. She knew they were there, but how could they be their babies? They weren’t mummahs. They were just dummeh littah and enfie-paws. They must have done something bad to have their leggies taken away. But not Caramel. She had her legs. She was a good fluffy.
But what if she wasn’t?
She had been tossed from foster home to foster home, always the dummeh fwuffy, always the one the children ignored, always sent home for being “difficult.” She curled up in a ball and sniffed. What if she was a bad fluffy? What is she deserved to be a litter-pal? What if? What if? What if?
The memory of a red smarty from one of her foster homes flashed in her head. They were both foals, but he was slightly older.
“Dummeh poopeh babbeh so ugwy! Onwy good for lickie cleanies!! Lick! GIB LICKIE CLEANIES!” She had run away crying, but the other foal continued to harass her, sticking his ass in her face and trying to make her do the dreaded lickie-cleanies. None of the other foals rushed to her rescue, nor did the human mummah. She thought about the litter pals upstairs. They had to do more than just lickie cleanies, didn’t they?
“Huuhuu…sniff…Cawamel bad fwuffy…Cawamel shooulda been a littah-pawl…huuhuu…” She shoved her face in the unmixed piles of shit and began to shove her face in it. She gagged and retched, but shoved it in her face, the memory of the foal’s ass rigid in her head and refusing to budge.
Then daddeh opened the door. Caramel didn’t look up, but heard him flinch and hiss in disgust.
“Huuhuu…Cawamel bad fwuffy…don deserve babbehs…onwy deserve poopies…huuhuu…”
“Caramel.”
“Dummeh daddeh…” She didn’t look up.
“I have a present for you.”
A tubby powder-blue foal cried in his hands. He explained that the rest of the foals were Malva’s foals, but this one was hers. She wasn’t sure how that happened, they all fell from the sky-place, but she was still a mummah. He sternly explained to her that Caramel didn’t have miwkie-pwaces, that he would get a bottle and formula for the baby to feed from, and that the baby could not be in the compost.
“I undewstand daddeh. Babbeh will be in wittle housie. Cawamel be good mummah!”
She named her “Babbeh Bwue.” He cried a lot, especially when he was guided to feed from the bottle daddeh had placed in the nest. It was cold, and slightly too big for his mouth at the start. Caramel would anxiously twiddle her hooves, staring down at her abdomen, wishing so badly to have miwkie-pwaces for her baby to suckle from. She eventually figured out that she could lie right next to the foal while he fed, feeling her soft fur and warmth envelop him.
“Be gud Babbeh Bwue. Mummah needs to do jowb. Mummah be back VEWY soon, otay babbeh?” Baby Blue would cry each time Caramel went to mix the compost, rolling around on the cardboard nest and wriggling his chubby little hooves. Caramel would panic, digging half-assed in the compost and rush over to coddle him. Daddeh started to notice.
“Caramel, why aren’t digging in the compost as much?”
“I-I’m sowwy daddeh. Babbeh bwue cwies weally woudwy whenebah Cawamel goes to miss teh compwost awound! Babbeh isn’t bwig enuff yet for mummah to weave awone!”
“Hmm. I see.” Daddeh thought for a minute. He seemed different lately. He seemed more distracted than usual, and there was either a tense frustration in his eyes or a distant sadness. He didn’t talk to the pillowfluffs as much either. In this instance, he looked exhausted, annoyed at the state of the compost but staring down at Caramel and Baby Blue pensively.
“Well, okay. Caramel, do you know what a sensitive baby is?”
“Yes daddeh. Sensitibe babbehs are dummeh babbehs.”
“Well, yes, I guess that’s one way to put it. Baby Blue is a sensitive baby. I’m sure you noticed he cries a lot more than other babies, right?”
“No daddeh, Baby Bwue is a babbeh. Babbehs cwy awot! Siwwy daddeh.”
"Right, I guess you’ve never been a mummah before. Baby Blue isn’t actually a small baby. He’s going to open his eyes soon - "
“Yeah daddeh! Then Babbeh Bwue will see dat mummah is stiww in da compwost! He won be wowwied anymow!”
“No. What I was going to say is that he’s going to open his eyes soon, and even though he will be able to see you, he’s still going to cry when you’re gone. He’s also always going to be a chirpy, he won’t be able to talk to you or really understand what you’re saying to him.”
Caramel cocked her head.
“Baby Bwue nebeah gonna tawk?”
“No, I’m sorry, he won’t. He is still gonna love you to pieces, don’t worry about that. But he’s always going to be a little, um, sensitive. Emotional. Even if he can see you.”
“So babbeh-bwue is a forebah-babbeh?”
“Yes, a forever baby. How do you feel about that?”
Caramel blinked.
“Does dat mean Cawamel forebah mummah?”
“Yes it does.”
“Weww…Cawamel essited fo dat! Cawamel wub bein mummah!! Cawamel wub bein mummah so much!”
“Okay, I bet you do, but do you know what that means?”
“Cawmel foebah mummah!”
Daddeh sighed and rubbed his face.
“Let me rephrase. I need you to understand that Baby Blue is always going to be upset when you leave, no matter what. I still need you to do your job, okay? But he’s also NOT going to be upset for long, you just have to deal with his crying for a couple of minutes each day, okay?”
Caramel nodded happily.
“Don wowwy daddeh! Cawamel wub Babbeh Bwue. Cawamel wub jowb, and Cawamel love daddeh!”
Daddeh smiled sadly. “I love you too Caramel.”
Baby Blue opened his eyes, and Caramel fell even deeper in love. His eyes were a rich blue, and his mane was starting to sprout out in the same gorgeous oceanic color. Caramel would hold him tight against her and he would giggle and chirp, wiggling his arms around and sucking on his hooves. She would spend her days cooing over him, singing him sweet little songs, and lying next to him as he suckled on the bottle. He couldn’t move very well, only able to shimmy and roll around when Caramel would put him down.
But daddeh was right - when she put him down to mix the compost, he would sob, reaching his front legs out for mummah and thrashing wildly on the floor. It didn’t matter if he could see her. As he got bigger, so did his cries, and Caramel would shudder, trying to mix the compost without breaking down herself as her babbeh’s cries pierced her heart.
“I-it’s otay babbeh…mummah hewe…mummah hewe…don cwy babbeh…m-mummah hewe, be back weaw soon!! Mummah pwomise!”
She managed to do her job each night, but rushed back to Baby Blue with tears in her eyes, panting and sweating and pulling her babbeh to her body, cooing him to sleep. She tried to mix the compost while he was asleep, but every single time, without fail, he felt her warmth leave her, and began to scream.
Occasionally, it would jolt Malva awake, hearing the cries of her own flesh and blood echoing from beneath her. She would look and count all of her babies, four on the other side of the box, and two suckling at her miwkie-pwaces. She would count them all again, wondering if it was just a dream, trying to ignore the deep, deep sense in her stomach that one of her babies was missing.
Caramel woke up one morning from not-really-a-dream. It was a flurry of images running through her half-asleep mind that she couldn’t really remember. She would nod off, the images returning as a disconcerting mess of thoughts telling her that her babbeh was gone - she awoke, and her babbeh was still there. She slipped again, and she thought that her babbeh was talking - she awoke, he wasn’t. She groggily pulled herself up from the cardboard nest, and began giving her peaceful, sleepy Baby Blue gentle lickies. He woke up, giggling, his beautiful blue eyes shimmering with love. She wanted to bite them.
Caramel jolted back, struck by the thought. She shook her head, and the thought was gone.
“G-gud mownin babbeh.” She apprehensively curled up next to Baby Blue as he crawled over to the formula bottle. He giggled and latched onto the nipple, closing his eyes with a soft coo and drinking heartily. Daddeh had started to refill the bottle every night with formula. Caramel sighed and hugged Baby Blue. He was already much bigger than most chirpies, which filled her with both delight and a twinge of fear. She stayed there, still, quiet, staring off into the distance as Baby Blue finished the bottle, burped and giggled, burrowing into Caramel’s fur.
Why would a good mummah want to bite her babbeh’s see-places? She loved his eyes. They were so beautiful and full of love. What was wrong with her? Was she a bad mummah?
She began to chew at her hooves, that awful ball of lightning beginning to swell in her chest and gut. Was she a bad mummah?
No, no she wasn’t. She was a good mummah. She loved Baby Blue. She loved him so much. It was so exciting to have a forever baby. He would never leave her, he would never hate her. hH would always want her.
She tried to return her attention to Baby Blue’s soft fur, nuzzling her snout in his belly and giving him licky-cleanies. He was so soft and fragile. His insides were full of skettis.
Caramel screeched and jolted upright. Baby Blue tumbled off of her and rolled off the ledge of the nest into the compost pile. He started bawling, flailing and looking around frantically for his mummah in the towering piles of rotting food and excrement. A curious isopod crawled onto his nose.
“PEEEEEEP! EEEEEEP!! PEEEP PEEEP PEEEP!”
“HUU! HOWD ON BABBEH! MUMMAH COMIN!” Caramel rushed into her grab her baby and flick the isopod away, but the image of bright red skettis pouring out of his belly would not leave her mind. She dropped Baby Blue on the wood, causing him to scream again, reaching out for her while she retreated into the compost pile.
“N-nu! Bad pictuwes! Bad pictuwes! Why no go away?? Why?? Cawamel gud mummah! Bad pictwes go AWAY!” She shut her eyes and covered her ears, but the image stayed still. Her gut twisted in pain.
“Huuhuu…Cawamel is bad mummah! Bad mummah! Gud mummahs don tink babbehs aw skettis! Cawamel bad mummah! Should nevah hab been a mummah! HUUHUU…”
She shoved her face in the shit again. She couldn’t eat bad skettis if she was full of bad poopies.
“HUUHUU…retch…don deserbe babbeh…huuhuu…” But the image stayed still in her mind - Baby Blue convulsing on the ground, a trail of blood dripping from her mouth, the taste of iron and meat and fresh formula oozing from his severed entrails. Why would she think of that? Why? Why? Why?
The door swung open?
“Caramel, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“D-DADDEH! Huuhuuu…Cawamel is BAD FWUFFY! BAD MUMMAH! Huhuuhuhuuu…”
“What? Why? Caramel, what happened? Why are you eating shit again?”
Daddeh picked Baby Blue up and gave him a quick look.
“Did your baby fall in the compost?”
“Y-yes daddeh, but Cawamel wescue babbeh! B-but…but…Cawamel dwop babbeh becawse of meanie pictuwes!”
“Meanie pictures? What do you mean?” Baby blue hiccupped and sucked on his hoof, reaching his other arm for Caramel.
"M-mind meanie pictwues! B-bad foughts!’
“You were having bad thoughts? About Baby Blue?”
“Yes daddeh! Cawamel is bad mummah…huhuuhuu…don desewbe babbeh…huu…”
“Oh gosh, Caramel, come here. Stop eating shit, and come here.”
Daddeh beckoned Caramel over, and she sheepishly walked over. He took her in one arm, and tried to hand Baby Blue to her, but she shook her head.
“Nu! Nu gib babbeh to Cawamel! Cawamel bad fuwffy! Don wan Babbeh Bwue!!”
“What happened? What thoughts were you having?”
Caramel looked up at daddy with huge eyes, tears streaming down her dirt and shit covered face.
“Sniff…sniff… Cawamel don wanna tawk about it. Daddeh will know Cawamel worstest fwuffy and send hew back tu shewtah.”
“No, I’m not going to do that.”
“W-weawwy?”
“Really. Listen - just because you have a bad thought doesn’t mean you’re a bad fluffy, okay? So, please tell me what you were thinking.”
“O-otay…sniff…it was jus fo a secowned…b-but Cawamel wanted tu eat Babbeh Bwue. Wanted to - hic - eat babbeh’s see-pwaces…huu…wanted to eat b-babbeh skettis…an an bad pictuwe of babbeh skettis wouldn go away!! Huuhuu…”
Daddeh pet Caramel with a sympathetic frown, Baby Blue squirming in his other hand and trying to reach for his mummah.
“Do you really want to eat Baby Blue?”
“N-no Daddeh! Cawamel wub Babbeh Bwue! Wub Babbeh Bwue so - hic - much!!! Don EBAH wanna eat Babbeh Bwue!”
“Are you worried that you might hurt him even though you don’t want to?”
“Yes daddeh! Wub Babbeh Bwue, don wanna gib him worstest huwties!! O ANWY huwties! At aww!! Huu…”
“Did you try to hurt him?”
“No daddeh. Twied to huwt Caramel instead.”
“Oh, Caramel. It just sounds like you’re having intrusive thoughts.”
“Intwusive fots?”
“Yes. Sometimes human brains get bad thoughts for no reason. They don’t necessarily mean anything. And fluffies get them too - they just don’t always have the same level of self control they humans do. But you didn’t hurt Baby Blue, and it doesn’t sound like you want to at all. But I know that image in your brain must have been very scary.”
Caramel sobbed and hugged Daddeh’s arm.
“It was so scawy daddeh! Why didn teh bad pictwuwe leabe?”
“Sometimes those thoughts are really strong. Do you want to hear what I do?”
“Wat dowes daddeh do?”
“Whenever I have a bad thought, I imagine it as a little monster on my shoulder. Then I shake him off, like this!” Daddeh jerked his head and shoulders. Baby Blue, who had calmed down a bit, giggled.
“Now you try. Imagine those bad thoughts as a monster. Then shake him off.”
“Otay daddeh. Cawamel will shake teh munstah off.” Caramel imagined a freaskish cross between the red smarty, a rat, and a blob of trash in her periphery. The little munstah giggled and waved at her, and she shook her whole body, popping it away into the compost.
“Good job.”
“Tankies daddeh. But…Cawamel stiww wowwied abouwt Babbeh Bwue…don wanna huwt bestest babbeh.”
“Well, Caramel, we have a couple of options. Do you just feel like you’re worried or tired?”
“M-maybe daddeh. Um, daddeh said tat Babbeh Bwue is aways gonna cwy. Cawamel don know if can handew. But Cawamel don wan babbeh to go away!”
“Hmm, well, there’s a couple things we can try. Maybe I can get a fluffy heating pad for him so that he still thinks its you at night when he’s sleeping. Although, that would require electricity, so maybe not…maybe just a fluffy piece of faux fur or something. I can also get him a pacifier. I could even get another fluffy to hang out with you down here and take care of him while you work.”
Caramel shook her head.
“No daddeh! Cawamel onwy wants babbeh.”
“Well, okay then. I’m glad, that saves me some money, heh. But how about that fluffy pad and pacifier? You want to try that?”
“Otay daddeh! But…wut if babbeh still cry? Wut if Cawamel wants to hurt babbeh again?”
“Do what I taught you - shake those thoughts away, and if you’re really worried, and if you really feel like you’re going to hurt Baby Blue, we’ll figure something new out, okay? But for now, I just want you to see if the fluff and pacifier work.”
“Otay daddeh.” Caramel hesitantly took Baby Blue back in her arms. He squealed with glee and looked up at her with those big, beautiful blue eyes. She didn’t want to eat him. She didn’t want to eat him at all.
Daddeh came back a few hours later in the evening with a folded piece of faux fur and a tiny FluffMart brand pacifier.
“Alright, all you need to do is lay on the fur for a couple hours, that should warm it up enough for Baby Blue to think it’s you, okay? And here’s the pacifier.”
The ball of anxiety rolled around in Caramel’s stomach as night fell. She had been laying and cuddling with Baby Blue all day on top of the fur, a spectacularly cozy nest for being adjacent to a rotting compost pile. Baby Blue yawned around his new pacifier, nodding off on top of the fur by Caramel’s chest. She looked down on him, that ball threatening to well up in her throat. What if it didn’t work? What if he cried again? It was okay that he cried, she guessed, but she felt so heart-wrenchingly awful every time it happened. What if she got mad? What if she gave sorry-hoofsies? What if? What if? What if?
Wait, the munstah on her shoulder. She had to shake it off - but she couldn’t shake it off with the babbeh right there, he would wake up.
Caramel slowly moved herself away from Baby Blue. He shifted and whimpered a bit, but stayed still. The fluffy slowly stood up and gave a subtle little shake, kicking the bad munstah off her shoulder. So far, so good.
She crawled down into the compost and mixed quietly, her head still turned towards the nest. Baby Blue was fast asleep. She sighed in relief, finishing her job and crawling back up. The foal whined a little bit, feeling the shifting weight of his mummah back in bed, but sighed happily when he felt her warmth close by.
A happy tear ran down Caramel’s face. The bad munstah was shaken away, the tearful cries were silenced, and she could just be with her beautiful Baby Blue again.
