The poorly maintained parking lot crunched beneath the tires of the 2019 Honda Civic as it rolled to a stop. The driver cursed as he exited the vehicle - he was about 6 inches over the line. Eh, it’s not important. This is just a quick grocery run on his way back home from Dr. Ampersand’s Fluffy Clinic. The man just has to pick up some milk and eggs and he’ll be right back. Nobody will even notice. Still a little agitated, the man slams the car door shut with slightly too much force, rattling the thin bars of the pet carrier in the back seat. He clicks the remote key and turns towards the grocery store without looking back.
“Huu huu huu…” came the mournful weeping of a cobalt blue fluffy.
The pitiful creature was wrapped around an old dish towel, the only comfort in his iron prison. This was one of the worst days of Rover’s life. His daddy - who he loved, Rover reminded himself instinctively - had grabbed the scruff of his neck during upsies-huggies and before the fluffy knew it, he had been lowered into the sorry box. Rover bawled his eyes out then - the sorry box is the worst suffering he had ever known. It’s almost as bad as the sorry stick. The thought of the thin plastic rod sent a new shiver of panic through the biotoy. The very idea of it drove him to tears and regret for mistakes real and imagined.
Rover felt his stomach turn. He rolled around in his cage, desperately trying to face his hindquarters. “Nu! Poopie pwave nu make bad poopies! Wovah wan’ be gud fwuffy!”
The biotoy’s poofy white tail flicked back and forth as Rover clenched his vestigial sphincter muscles. Luckily for Rover, the scaredy-poopies never came. Rover tried his tears with his beloved blankie and curled up again in the middle of the sorry box. This was almost as scary as…
“Huu huu huu, Wovah nu wike vet! Vet scawy!” Tears rushed back to Rover’s eyes as he remembered the events of a few minutes ago, when the terrifying Vet manhandled him and gave him the worst pointy owies he’d ever had.
“Wovah nu wike bwuh-wowk…” Blood work was the name of the hurties that the Vet gave him.
Rover shrieked and wailed when he saw the Vet’s evil henchman - the Pokie-Monster - eat his boo-boo juice. He hated the feeling of the band-aid the Vet put on his hurties. Only huggies can help hurties, not some silly band-aid. Rover was so incredibly thankful when his Daddy came to rescue him. But now Daddy was gone again, and Rover was all alone. Even the vroomie-monster had gone quiet.
It takes a forever and a half, but the visions of terror and pain eventually leave Rover’s mind. Shakily, the fluffy rises in the sorry box and takes a look around.
“Huu-huu, scawy!” Rover had never been here before.
Rover could see out the windows of Daddy’s vroomie-monster, but there was no housie there, no safe room. There was a big housie that seemed to stretch forever, and more vroomie-monsters than Rover could count. But no Daddy, no housie, no safety.
“Daddeh!” cried Rover, “Where awe yu! Wovah am wost! Nee’ huggies! Nee’ wub!”
Fear raced through Rover’s tangerine-sized brain. No Daddy, unfamiliar surroundings, stuck in the sorry box. This was very bad. This was the worst. Rover felt a roiling in his tummy, so he sat on his haunches and tried to give his tummy huggies. Without a litter box, this was all he could do to stave off bad scaredy-poopies.
“Huu huu, no be huwties. Wovah nu wan’ make bad poopies. Wovah am gud fwuffy!” A low gurgling was Rover’s only answer. The huggies weren’t working, and that made Rover even more scared.
Rover blinked away some tears, and when he opened his eyes, he finally noticed just how bright the sky-ball is today.
“Eep!” Rover shut his eyes hard - the sudden brightness made him dizzy. But even though he could not see the sky-ball, he could certainly feel its warmth. That was some small comfort at least. Rover lifted his front legs towards the sky-ball and looked away.
“Wovah wike wawmies! Gib huggies, sky-baww-fwend?” But the sky-ball was being mean, and did not answer.
That was alright with Rover though, since he could still feel the sky-ball’s warmth, and that was almost as good as a hug. Rover felt so very warm! It was like when it got cold-times outside and he curled up near the “wadiatow”. So snuggly! But sometimes the “wadiatow” got too warm, and Rover got up and walked away - usually to visit the litterbox.
The sky-ball was getting a little too warm, so Rover decided to walk away from it, just like the radiator. The biotoy turned - and walked directly into the rattling bars of the sorry box.
“Ouchies!” came the programmed response.
“Wovah am su wawmies! Nu nee’ mowe wawmies, meanie sky-baww!”. The sky-ball, ever stoic, did not respond.
It was almost too warm now. Rover was getting uncomfortable. He felt a little drip of “wa-wa” on his snout. That made the fluffy realize just how thirsty he was getting. He tried to flick his tongue up to lick the “wa-wa”, but -
“Huu-huu! Nu taste pwetty!” It was salty! And stale!
And there was so little of it, it would never be enough to quench Rover’s growing thirst. And the warmies were getting even warmer. Rover tried again to walk away from the sky-ball.
“Ouchies!” Again, as he smacked his snout into the bars of his travel cage. This time, he got a little dizzy. Rover flopped down on his side. Everything was so warm! And bright! And when the fluffy lied down, his fluff felt sticky and damp. Damp?
“EEK!” whined Rover, “Wawa am bad fo’ fwuffies!”
Rover’s automatic fear response to any kind of dampness worked into overdrive, exascerbated by his discomfort and sadness. He wanted to get away from the scary water - he had to! So Rover ran as fast and far as he could away, far away from the mean sky-ball and its bad huggies, and the water.
Rover ran face-first into the bars of his sorry box for the third time. This time, there was just enough momentum to knock the lightweight metal cage over. Rover wailed as his sorry box tumbled into the floor of the vroomie-monster. The rattling of the sorry box was scary, and the sudden freefall was scary, and the hurties were scary, and the sky-ball was scary, and -!
“Huu huu huu, nu smeww pwetty…” A foul stench fills the air and tears fill Rover’s eyes.
The scaredy poopies were sticky and foul. Rover must have lost control of himself the moment he tumbled over, since most of the filth was on his fluff, not the sorry box.
“Huu! Nu pwetty! Nu smeww pwetty! Huu huu huu, Wovah nu mean make scawedy poopies!”
Rover started to cry. His pretty blue fluff was matted with feces and damp from the sky-ball. And, Rover noticed through his tears, there was a yellowish puddle forming near his back legs. Not scaredy-peepees too! His front leg still hurt from the meanie Vet. He was still in the sorry box. This would be torture for any fluffy, but even worse for Rover. He still didn’t even know why he was in the sorry box to begin with! Rover crawled as far as he could from the pool of scaredy-peepees - a few inches, given the size of the travel cage - and curled into a ball. He stayed in that position and cried forever. At least, it felt like forever.
In the depths of his sorrow, Rover remembered how warm he was. Far too warm. Even with the sorry box on the floor of the vroomie-monster, the sky-ball was still hurting him with “bwighties” and “too-wawmies”. Rover started panting - it was getting hard to breathe. The heat was a searing agony now, so oppressive that Rover lacked the words to describe it. The fluffy grew desperate for the slightest relief.
“Daddeh! Wan’ Daddeh! Huu, huu-huu, Daddeh sabe Wovah!”
But unfortunately for Rover, Daddy did not answer. To a fluffy, the words “Daddy” and “God” might as well be synonyms. The sweaty, feces-smeared biotoy thought as hard as he could about how he could save himself.
Like always, Rover thought out loud. “Wawmies… huu… Wovah tu wawmies… nee’ wawmies gu’ 'way…”
Rover had to stop and pant for a while to catch his breath - making talkies was somehow giving him hurties.
Rover thought about the things that gave warmies, but quieter now. The sky-ball. The radiator. Daddeh, after a bath. Fluff. Fluff was warm. Warm, and soft, and pretty, and -!
Rover steeled his nerves for what he had to do. The biotoy blinked away tears as he took a clump of his own pretty, pretty fluff in his teethies and pulled as hard as he could. There were poopies on it, and it tasted horrible! And it hurt! His own teethies were giving such hurties! The pain was unbearable, but the biotoy muscled through. After an agonizing instant of effort, the fluff on Rover’s haunch gave way and separated from his skin. Little drops of blood began to form on the bare skin where fluff follicles had been pulled away. The fluffy opened his eyes and for a brief moment expected sweet relief to wash over him. Rover wept when he realized that the no-fluff spot was still just as agonizingly hot. His self-mutilation was completely useless. Rover cried again, but found that his throat was giving him hurties. He spat out the lump of soiled fluff and huuhuu’d softly as his haunch stung. The crying made his throat scratch even more. It felt dry inside. And the fluffy is still so hot! Rover started panting again, and this time didn’t bother to try and catch his breath. His tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth, and Rover felt his mouth get drier and give more hurties.
Rover opened his eyes. He had to blink a few time to get rid of the dizzies, but that made his head hurt. Shakily, the fluffy rose to his hooves, wincing when he had to move his bandaid-leggie and his no-fluff-spot leggie. This was awful. In the saferoom, there was a “wawa-bottow” on the wall that let him have sweet, fresh water whenever he needed it. But there were no “wawas” here, and he needed them. Somehow, Rover knew that if he didn’t get water soon, he would feel even worse. The thought terrified him. Too tired to hold it in, Rover released a thin dribble of scaredy-peepees. The drip-drip of the peepees gave Rover an idea. An awful, no-smell-pretty, no-taste-pretty, worstest-not-pretty idea. But he was so, so thirsty.
The floor of the sorry box was metal and retained the peepees in a shallow puddle. Rover gagged as he turned towards the puddle of his own wastewater.
“Huu huu, nu smeww pwetty!” - the programmed response.
Rover couldn’t help himself, it just had to be said. Maybe if he said it, his Daddy would hear and give him fresh, cool water to drink.
“NU SMEWW PRETTY!” wailed Rover, as he willed his snout ever-closer to the puddle of urine.
But the yell just made his throat hurt even more, and Daddy still didn’t come. Rover closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
It was putrid and lukewarm. “Nu taste pwetty! Nu taste pwetty!”
It didn’t taste like the water from his bottle. “Huu huu huu, nu taste pwetty! Huu…”
Rover lapped up every drop of his own urine, desperate for the slightest relief from the all-consuming thirst. But the peepees stung his mouth, and swalling made his throat give hurties, and it was still so hot. Rover felt another wave of dizziness, and flopped languidly onto his side, legs splayed out.
Rover laid there, blue fluff and white tail matted and sticky with feces and urine, mane slick and greasy with his sweat. He laid there forever and ever, and got sweatier and not-smell-prettier. Every panting breath made him hurties. He tried to swallow the wawas that were usually in his mouth, but he found it dry and stale. The hurties in Rover’s throat made him retch. Forever and ever passed again, and again. All sense of time departed the biotoy as he roasted in the car. Would he ever get up? Rover thought of runnie-games, and watching FluffTV, and clear water from the bottle, and sketties, and his Daddy who Rover loved so, so much. Rover couldn’t give up, not now! Not when Daddy could still come to save him!
Rover blinked away more dizzies as he crawled towards the impenetrable iron bars of the sorry box. He couldn’t manage to stand up, but he could still try and escape. Only bad fluffies try to escape the sorry box, but this was an emergency. Daddy would forgive him. Surely, if Daddy knew how much pain Rover was in, Daddy would forgive him, and give him huggies, and a bath, and fresh water, and take the too-warmies hurties away.
Rover was too exhausted to lift up his legs and give the box sorry hoofies. And he had tried that before, and it only got him covered in his own scaredy poopies. Rover moved his muzzle towards the bars. His tongue flopped around as Rover began to frantically pant faster and faster. He had to escape, somehow. His snout squished unpleasantly against the metal. This was the only thing Rover could think of.
“Huugh, huugh. hu-caff caff”. Rover’s throat was too dry to cry.
“Huugh caff… huuugh”, wheezed the biotoy as he stuck his muzzle forward against the bars. He felt a piece of the sorry-box’s walls in his mouth. This was an emergency. Rover tensed his jaw. Daddy would forgive him. Rover bit down as hard as he could.
“HUEEEGH! HUEEGH! HEEEEEEEGH!” Rover screeched and wheezed from the pain.
The fluffy could taste a bitter, not-pretty taste. Wawas? No… boo-boo juice. And there was boo-boo juice on the sorry box too. Rover tried to swallow some of the boo-boo juice to help with his thirsties, but choked. Rover’s eyes almost bugged out of his sockets when he choked, and with explosive effort he regurgitated the contents of his esophagus onto the car’s floor. Little white teethies, broken and not-pretty, were in a pool of boo-boo juice in front of Rover. Rover kept panting, and he felt boo-boo juice trickle down his dry, dry tongue.
Weakly, Rover stretched his little pink tongue to lap at the blood he vomited out. The taste made him retch even more, and he coughed up more boo-boo juice. It was no use. Rover would have cried, but his tears were all dried up. He wiggled and writhed his leggies in the hot, hot air as he rolled over onto his other side. Rover didn’t want to look at the teethies and boo-boo juice anymore. Rover didn’t want to be too warmies anymore. He wanted Daddy. Rover wanted Daddy so much. Why did Daddy leave? Why?
The man checked the clock on his phone as he walked towards his car. Hey, look at that! He made pretty good time in there. Sure, the check out line was long, but he was in and out of the grocery store in less than fifteen minutes. He clicked open the trunk of his Honda Civic and set the bag of groceries inside. Before he got in the driver’s seat, he opened the backseat to check on his pet. A wave of putrid, stinking air escaped the car - Oh, goddamnit!
Rover, the man’s pet fluffy, had somehow knocked over his carrier. The poor thing was lying on its side at the bottom of the back seats, mouth wide open, eyes glazed over and starting to cloud. Rover’s entire body was greasy from sweat, and his tongue drooped across cracked, bloodstained lips. There was feces and blood rubbed into his fluff, and it looked like he had somehow broken most of his teeth - little pearly-white pieces of them were scattered around the floor of the Civic. The stench was godawful. It smelled like Rover had been rotting for days in the hot sun. The man muttered angrily to himself as he pulled the pet carrier out of his car and set it down in the parking lot. He considered taking Rover out, but decided not to. It was a cheap carrier anyway. The man got in his car and drove out of the lot before anyone noticed his littering.