I had actually slept… decently.
The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and the fire had kept the room warm and cozy even as it burned down through the night. I stirred slowly, the crackling of the dying embers the only sound in the quiet house.
Across the room, the two little ferals were still snuggled up in the towel nest I’d made them. Well—as snuggled as Blossom could get. She looked even rounder than yesterday, if that was possible. I wasn’t an expert, but she had to be just a few days—maybe even hours—away from giving birth.
She was going to need the towel sling again today. No question.
Carefully, I eased myself out of the sleeping bag and made my way to the office door. I figured I’d sneak into the kitchen and grab some of the supplies I brought in last night. A decent breakfast would go a long way—for me and the little fluffballs.
Just as I cracked the door open, I heard a groggy voice behind me.
“W-whewe goin’, Daddeh…?”
Blueberry. Of course.
I winced. So much for sneaking out.
“Morning, buddy,” I whispered, glancing back. Blossom was still out cold, softly snoring. “I’m just going to the kitchen to make break—uh, to get nummies for everyone. You can come along if you want, but let Blossom sleep. It’ll be good for the babies.”
“Otay, Daddeh! Bwuebewwy come!” he said—at full volume, of course—in the worst whisper attempt I had ever heard.
Still, Blossom didn’t stir. She kicked her little legs out, smacked her lips, and cooed softly in her sleep.
Close enough.
Blueberry and I crept down the hall and into the kitchen. I had a few canned goods and dry cereal from the night before waiting for us. Not a feast, but enough to work with.
I figured a bowl of sugary cereal would be a decent pick-me-up for me. As for them… well, I knew fluffies were obsessed with spaghetti. The spaghetti O’s I brought would have to do until I could make a proper trip into town.
As I poured cereal into a plastic bowl, Blueberry tilted his head curiously.
“Wha dat, Daddeh? Hoomin nummies? Smeww pwetty!”
“Yeah, buddy. These are for humans,” I said, giving the bowl a shake. “I doubt they’re good for you or Blossom. But—” I held up a can. “—I do have something here I think you’ll like. Just need to heat it up somehow.”
The electricity and water had come back online quickly when I transferred the utilities. Here’s hoping the gas was just as smooth.
I turned the knob on the old stovetop, and after a few stubborn clicks, the burner finally came to life with a familiar WHOOMPH of blue flame.
I didn’t have any pots or pans unpacked yet, but honestly, I’d heated many a can of Spaghetti O’s over a single burner stove on many a camping trip. They’d heat just fine on the stove top inside their can.
As I waited, I glanced back and saw Blueberry sitting patiently on the tile—upright on his haunches, front legs tucked against his belly, his tiny back hooves sticking out at a weird angle.
“What a good boy.” I thought to myself the corners of my mouth pulling into a smile.
But there it was again—that familiar feeling I secretly, shamefully loved.
I turned back toward the can of spaghetti O’s, trying to focus on it, trying to stay normal for just five minutes. Blueberry had looked so happy. So content. So safe sitting there like a little plush toy come to life.
It was a far cry from yesterday’s trembling, filthy mess.
And honestly… he was growing on me. They both were. Why even call them ferals anymore? These were my fluffies now. Pets.
But as I thought about him sitting there, looking so smug and cozy and perfect, I felt the itch. That little scratch in the back of my brain. The question.
How do I take that away?
Just a little. Nothing harmful. Nothing cruel. But what would make him cry? What would make him scared again?
The thought gave me tingles.
It was the most delightful itch. That awful, intrusive thing I shouldn’t want, but did. I’d never hurt them—God, no. I wasn’t one of those people. The ones who did the unspeakable stuff to fluffies. But to make Blueberry whimper? To see that pouty lip tremble?
Intoxicating.
I really should call my therapist.
Finally, the spaghetti O’s looked warm enough. I pulled the can from the flame, stirred it with a spoon I found in a drawer, and poured half into a plastic bowl.
“Blueberry,” I said, positively glowing, “I hope you’re ready for your spaghetti!”
His eyes lit up instantly.
“Squee! Skettis! Jus’ fow Bwuebewwy? Fank yu, Daddeh! Yu da bestest Daddeh eba! Skettis am besest nummies!”
I motioned him over to the counter and knelt down to place the bowl beside us. He trotted over eagerly, his eyes locked onto the steaming bowl like it was a holy relic.
As he lunged forward for his first bite, drool already dangling from his lip—
He couldn’t reach it.
His little hooves scrambled. He leaned, strained, kicked his legs. But nope.
I was standing just barely on his tail fluff. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to anchor him there.
And wouldn’t you know it—I got a call right at that moment.
Or, well, I pretended I did.
I pulled out my phone, brought it to my ear, and started rambling nonsense into it like I was having the most casual, no-big-deal conversation of the morning.
Blueberry flailed.
“Daddeh! Bwuebewwy nu can get skettis!”
His front hooves dug at the tile.
“Daddeh! Yu on Bwuebewwy’s taiwsie! Nu can reach skettis!!”
Still, I “talked.” Totally calm. Totally detached. Standing right there.
He squirmed and pouted. And then—music to my ears—he sniffled.
And then…
“Huuuuuuhuuu! Daddeh hewp! Bwuebewwy nu can get nummies! Bwuebewwy su hungwie! Pwease, Daddeh! Hewp fwuffy! Peep! Chirp!”
Ahh.
Sweet relief.
I finally lifted my foot off his tail and ended the fake call with a cheerful “Talk to you later!” before slipping the phone back in my pocket.
“Oh buddy! Don’t cry! I’m so sorry! Was I standing on your tail? Look, it’s okay! You can get your skettis now. Daddy is so sorry.”
He sniffled between slurps, spaghetti O’s dribbling down his chin.
“Sniff… I-it’s otay, Daddeh… nu mean to be meanie… it otay…”
And just like that—it was over. Like nothing had ever happened.
I scooped him up gently and gave him a warm hug. His soft little body pressed against my chest, still sniffling, but already calmer.
And then—from the other room…
“Huuhuuu! Speciaw fwend? Daddeh? Whewe go? Bwossom is aww awone!!”
I hurried down the hallway with Blueberry cradled in my arms.
I could still feel the tiniest tremble running through his little body—leftover nerves from the Spaghetti O’s incident. Guilt pricked at me, dull but real. I hadn’t hurt him, not really. It was harmless. Just a moment. A scratch to soothe the itch. But seeing him like this—ears low, sniffling, trying so hard to be brave—it tugged at something else.
As we rounded the corner into the study, Blossom came into view—legs flailing in the air, hooves twitching wildly against the floor, but making no progress at all. Her belly was far too big. She wasn’t going anywhere.
She looked like a helpless, overturned plushie. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so pitiful.
I couldn’t be mean to Blossom. Not while she was like this.
“Hey Blossom! Daddy’s here!” I said quickly, stepping toward her. “Don’t worry—we weren’t far away at all!”
“Nu wowwy, speciaw fwend!” Blueberry added in a wobbly voice. “Bwuebewwy am hewe! Is otay…”
Blossom burst into a fresh round of sobs, flailing harder.
“Huuuu huuuuuuhuuuu! Su scawy! Bwossom aww awone! Huuuu… nu weave Bwuebewwy! Nu weave Daddeh! Bwossom nu wan be awone nu mowe!”
God. It really didn’t take much to get these little guys crying.
But still—it pulled at my heart. She was terrified. Genuinely. And so helpless. There was no itch to scratch here, just a deeply vulnerable creature begging not to be left behind.
“It’s okay, Blossom,” I said as gently as I could. I knelt beside her, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of a finger. “We’re here now. We’re not going anywhere.”
“W-we nu weave,” Blueberry whispered, curling into her side protectively. He still had spaghetti sauce on his chin.
I gave him a little pat on the head. He leaned into it.
“Oh! And—good news,” I added, standing up. “I got you nummies, Blossom! Just wait here, okay?”
She sniffled and nodded as best she could, her wings fluttering weakly.
Blueberry looked up at me, maybe understanding what I was about to do, maybe not. But he stayed with her, curling close as her breathing slowly settled.
And with that, I dashed back down the hall toward the kitchen, aiming for the other half of the can.
I rushed back into the study, bowl in hand, to find Blueberry nuzzling into Blossom’s side, his little face pressed into her fluff as he tried to calm her down.
“Nu wowwy, speciaw fwend!” he cooed, that chipper tone finally returning to his voice. “Daddeh gib beses nummies! Hab skettis! Make gud miwkies fow da tummeh babbehs!”
Blossom was still squirming uncomfortably, letting out soft huffs and whimpers. Her wings twitched with every tiny movement, and her swollen belly shifted slightly with each breath. Poor thing looked like a furry balloon party balloon minus the helium.
But all of that melted away the moment I set the bowl of warm spaghetti O’s down in front of her.
“Mmmm… smeww su nummie!” she squealed, instantly burying her face into the pile of noodles. “Wub skettis! Fank yu, Daddeh!!”
I stood there, watching her eat with wild abandon, sauce already matting her cheeks again, and I couldn’t help but smile.
They really are incredibly cute.
And I was already thinking ahead—about what I could do for them. Toys. Beds. Things to make their lives easier, safer. Things to keep them happy. Maybe even keep me happy. The weird aggression at the back of my brain had gone quiet for now—curled up and sleeping, like a dog that had been fed.
But it was still there.
Why did I enjoy seeing them upset so much? Especially when I was the one causing it? Why was it so satisfying to see Blueberry whimper? Why did Blossom’s panic make my heart race in all the wrong ways?
And yet… I was attached. I cared.
Maybe that was the most confusing part.
I shook the thoughts off and refocused.
I had a lot to do today. The plan was to check the house over—make sure there were no leaks, get into the basement to inspect the pipes, maybe clean up the main living areas a bit. And, of course, there was the rest of the crap I needed to move in from the truck.
But the fluffies had taken priority.
They needed their own space. A safe space.
I remembered that dinner with my friend and his sister rambling on about fluffies—how they needed an entire room set up just for them. Padding on the floor, padding on the lower parts of the walls, child-safe corners, special dishes, toys, blankets, warm beds… basically a plush fortress of safety.
I’d need to head into town soon to get everything. Toys. Food. Cleaning supplies. All of it.
The rest of the house could wait.
The fluff room came first.
They were my number one priority now.
I wanted them to be safe.
I… loved the little shits.
I had to figure out the logistics of a trip into town with these two.
Technically, I could leave them in the laundry room. It had worked before. They’d made themselves at home in there long before I arrived, and they probably wouldn’t destroy much. But…
I didn’t feel right about it.
The thought of something happening while I was gone twisted something deep in my gut. Now that I cared about them, really cared, it felt like the universe would take that as an invitation to mess with me. Like it was just waiting to punish me for getting attached.
Surely this “FluffMart” place encouraged bringing fluffies inside, right? It was practically in the name. Bring-your-own-fluff. I could take them with me.
It wouldn’t be easy—especially with Blossom’s insanely pregnant wobble—but it felt like the safer of the two options. A little chaotic? Probably. But I’d rather deal with chaos than come home to silence.
As I mulled it over, Blossom let out the tiniest burp and blinked up at me.
“Daddeh, nummies su good!” she chirped. “Bwossom am fiwsty. Can hab dwinkies? Pwease?”
Her legs were splayed out helplessly, her belly anchoring her completely.
Blueberry perked up at the mention of water and trotted in little excited circles. Right—how had I forgotten? Of course they needed something to drink. What kind of pet parent forgets water?
I hesitated for half a second, wondering if fluffies needed a special kind of dish or filtered water or whatever, but I decided to wing it. I filled a clean plastic bowl with fresh tap water and set it down.
They both dove in face-first.
Problem solved. Sort of.
They slurped happily, leaving behind a pinkish bowl of watered-down spaghetti sauce when they were done. I used one of the towels to wipe their faces clean, laughing softly at the red rings around their mouths.
Then I remembered something important.
“Oh, I almost forgot the rules!” I said, clapping my hands. Their ears perked.
“Okay, listen up, floofs. Rule number one: always listen to Daddy. Rule two: get dirty, get a bath. Rule three: no messes in the house. Rule four: always use the litter box—more on that later.”
Their eyes widened at the unfamiliar term, but they didn’t interrupt.
“And there might be more rules later. But that gives us a good baseline.”
“Otay, Daddeh!” Blueberry said eagerly.
“Be besses fwuffies, Daddeh! Pwomise!” chirped Blossom, wriggling with excitement.
“Good!” I grinned. “Because today, we’re going somewhere really fun. The FluffMart!”
They gasped.
“I’m gonna get you two soft beds, toys, blankies, and all kinds of gadgets to keep you safe.”
“Squee! Sound su fun, Daddeh! Su cited!” Blossom squealed, practically vibrating in place.
“Gon’ git ouw own toysies an’ nesties! Peep!” Blueberry cheered, spinning in tight little circles, his hooves making quick patter-patter sounds on the floor.
I chuckled.
“I’m so glad you two are excited. Now—you stay here while Daddy gets the car off the car dolly. We’re not taking the U-Haul into town. Not unless I want to burn through fifty bucks in gas and look like a lunatic.”
Getting the car off the dolly was easy. Took all of five minutes.
The harder part was figuring out how to safely transport two balls of floof without proper equipment. I couldn’t just toss them on the backseat and hope for the best—not with Blossom in her ready-to-pop state.
Then it hit me.
Grandma’s fat old tabby—what was his name again? Terrence? Tiberius? Something regal and heavy. Anyway, if she had a cat, she had a carrier. And if she had a carrier, it was probably still somewhere in the house.
I headed down to the basement to root around.
It didn’t take long. Back in the corner, under an old CB radio and a dusty stereo that probably hadn’t been turned on since Reagan was in office, I found it—an old plastic cat carrier. A little dusty, but intact. Latch worked. Door wasn’t rusted. Bingo.
I grabbed some towels and sheets and packed it out—soft bedding for the fluffs and, hopefully, a barrier for any… unexpected events in the event Blossom suddenly decided it was go time halfway to town.
Now came the real challenge: getting them to trust the thing.
I climbed back upstairs, the carrier in one hand. Blueberry was already waiting at the top step like a tiny, eager sentry.
“Whut am dat, Daddeh?” he asked, cocking his fuzzy little head to the side.
“It’s a carrier,” I said, setting it down. “I’m gonna use it to get you and Blossom to the store safely. It’s not scary, I promise. C’mon—let’s go show her.”
“Otay, Daddeh! Bwuebewwy comin’!” he puffed his chest out and started trotting beside me in long, exaggerated strides, clearly trying to act like my big helper.
He was so proud. So important. Like he was personally responsible for ushering in this grand new era of transportation technology.
We got to the study, and I set the carrier down in front of Blossom, who was resting in her towel nest. Blueberry immediately took the lead, babbling about the “boxie” and how it was gonna take them to the “FwuffMawt,” and how it wasn’t scary at all and “wooked wike fun boxie not sowwy boxie.” He went on and on in that shrill little voice, so full of excitement and reassurance, even though he clearly had no clue what he was talking about.
It was adorable.
But I was more focused on how to actually get Blossom inside.
“Heya, girlie,” I said, crouching next to her. She turned those big doe eyes toward me, ears perking up. “Are you ready for a ride? All you have to do is hop in this carrier so you’ll be nice and safe.”
Her eyes drifted to the box. Her ears folded back slightly.
“Cawwiew?” she said slowly. “Dat am wook wike… sowwy boxie, Daddeh. Nu wan sowwy boxie…”
And just like that, things clicked.
She knew what a sorry box was.
And judging by her reaction, she’d been in one before.
Blossom was too well-behaved and too socialized to be a long-term stray. And so was Blueberry. They’d probably belonged to someone once. Someone who hadn’t treated them very well.
I felt a pang.
“No, sweetie,” I said gently. “This is a good box. It keeps you safe when we go for rides. Here—give it a sniff.”
She leaned over as far as her belly would let her and sniffed the wire door, nose wrinkling.
“Dis nu smeww pwetty… smeww wike kitty Munstah…” she said, scrunching her face.
“I know. I’m sorry. But it’s the safest thing I’ve got for now. Just for the ride to the FluffMart, then I’ll get you something better. I promise.”
There was a long pause. Her nose twitched once more.
Then finally, in a tiny whisper:
“…hmm… dis otay boxie. Bwossom twy it.”
Perfect.
I popped the top off the carrier and gently lifted her into it using the towel sling already under her belly. It was awkward, but she settled into the pile of soft cloth in the back of the crate with a little sigh.
Blueberry hopped up into the front part of the carrier, planting himself by the door on a separate towel—his posture straight and alert like a proud little bodyguard. Giving Blossom the comfiest spot while he “guarded” her.
What a gentleman.
And with that, we were packed. Ready.
Fluffs secured. Towels in place. Car warmed up.
The ride to FluffMart was surprisingly uneventful. Blueberry spent most of it pressed against the carrier door, excitedly babbling about all the “toysies” and “nummies” he was going to find, while Blossom sat quietly in the back on her towel nest, mostly just watching the scenery with wide eyes. Every now and then, she’d let out a soft little huff or wiggle uncomfortably, but I just figured she was being her usual, very pregnant self.
When we pulled into the FluffMart parking lot, I parked under some shade and popped the door open. I checked the fluffies—Blueberry looked ready to explode from excitement, tail flicking and hooves tapping. Blossom looked… off. Still quiet. Still tense. But she gave me a soft smile when I peeked in, so I figured she was just overwhelmed.
The place was exactly what I imagined it would be—giant cartoon posters of smiling fluffies plastered on the windows, a motion-activated talking plushie at the entrance that shouted “Wewcome tu FwuffMawt! We wuv yu!” as we stepped inside, and bright pastel everything. The air smelled like bubblegum and some kind of lemony floor cleaner.
I carried the crate into the store, glancing around for an employee. Blueberry was squealing and trying to narrate everything he saw through the bars of the carrier. Blossom… still quiet.
We didn’t get far before someone approached.
A young woman—early twenties maybe—wearing a pink FluffMart vest with a badge that read Lila – Fluffy Enrichment Specialist. She looked like she belonged on one of the posters. Cheerful, energetic, slightly too wide a smile.
“Oh my gosh! Are these your fluffies?” she asked, crouching down. “They’re adorable! What are their names?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s Blueberry, and the big round one back there is Blossom,” I said, still holding the crate at waist height.
“Awwwwww,” she beamed, getting eye-level with them. “Hi, Blueberry! Hi, Blossom!”
That’s when Blossom let out a long, shaky groan.
Her back legs twitched. Her belly shifted. Her wings splayed slightly.
Then came the panic.
“DADDEH!! SOMFIN HABBENIN! HUUUU! BIGGES POOPIES!”
She let out a squealing sob and started wriggling in the towel nest, legs flailing like she was trying to crawl out of her own skin.
Blueberry freaked instantly. “NUUU! BWOSSOM? BWOSSOM NU AM OTAY! HUUUU! DADDEH, HEWP!”
I stood there like an idiot for a second, trying to make sense of what was happening. My brain caught up just as Blossom let out another deep groan and started writhing against the carrier wall.
Lila sprang into action so fast she made me look comatose.
“She’s in labor—we’ve got a birthing suite in the back! Come with me!”
She turned on her heel, already jogging toward a hallway near the pet grooming station. I followed close behind, carrier in hand, trying not to shake the box too much while Blossom whimpered and Blueberry continued to lose his mind.
We reached a door labeled “Fluffy Medical & Enrichment.” Lila pushed it open and motioned me inside.
It was… surprisingly well-equipped. Warm lighting, padded mats on the floor, blankets everywhere, and a little metal table set up in the center under a heat lamp. There was even a tiny mural on the wall of cartoon fluffies cuddling their babies.
“Put her on the pad—gently,” Lila said. “You can leave Blueberry in the carrier or let him sit nearby if he’s calm enough. Just don’t let him crowd her.”
I carefully popped the top off the crate and lifted Blossom out in her towel sling, laying her gently on the mat. She was already breathing fast, eyes wide, pupils huge.
“It’s okay, Blossom. I’m here,” I said, kneeling beside her.
Blueberry sprang from the crate and started pacingn in circles, quietly squeaking, “Speciaw fwend… babbehs…”
Lila handed me a warm towel. “Here—just pet her gently. Keep your voice low. She’s scared, but it’s normal. She’s gonna be okay.”
I nodded, wiping the sweat from my palms. Blossom let out another strained cry and pushed.
“She’s already in the pushing phase. Looks like she was trying to hold it in during the drive. That happens a lot more than you’d think.” Lila said.
Blossom whimpered again and reached out toward me with a hoof.
“Daddeh… pwease… hewp Bwossom… nu go ‘way…”
“I’m right here,” I said, pressing my hand to her fluff.
And I meant it.
Blossom’s breathing was coming faster now—shallow little gasps between soft, warbling cries. Her legs twitched. Her wings kept fluttering involuntarily. The heat lamp above the mat cast a warm, orange glow over everything, and I sat there, towel in hand, gently petting her back as she trembled.
Lila crouched nearby with gloved hands and calm eyes, her voice steady but soft.
“Okay, you’re doing great, Blossom. Just keep breathing. When your tummy feels tight, push, okay?”
“Huuu… huuuh… Daddeh… owwies…” Blossom whimpered, her soft hooves raking at the mat.
“I’m here, girlie. You’re okay. You’re so strong,” I murmured.
With a strained squeal, she pushed hard—and something small and wet slid free onto the towel.
Lila was already there with practiced hands. She moved fast but quiet. She wiped the tiny body clean and checked it with a quick glance. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Stillborn,” she whispered, turning her shoulder so Blossom couldn’t see.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just stared.
Lila gently tucked the tiny form away in a lined container beside her—quick, clean, efficient.
Blossom panted. “Babbeh? Babbeh am hewe? Gib babbeh! Babbeh nee mummah!"
“You’re doing great, sweetie,” Lila said smoothly. “Keep going. The babies aren’t out yet.”
Another push. Another tiny cry from Blossom—and another silent body.
And another.
Three in total.
I felt my stomach twist. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t loud. It was just… quiet. Like a tiny light getting snuffed out before it ever got a chance to flicker.
Lila worked quickly and silently. Each little body was wrapped and removed before Blossom could notice.
Better she never knew.
And then—one more push. Blossom screamed, wings flaring wide.
A final foal tumbled out, slick and trembling—but this one squirmed.
It let out a soft, squeaky chirp.
Lila’s face lit up instantly. “We’ve got a live one.”
She wiped the little thing clean, carefully clearing its airways and wrapping it in a warm towel before laying in front of Blossom.
It was a tiny pegasus filly, her fluff a soft, speckled pink with patches of white. Eyes shut tight, wings twitching instinctively, her body shivering with newborn effort.
Blossom burst into tears the second she felt her.
“Babbeh! Bwossom hab babbeh! Huuuuhuuuhuuu!”
“You did it,” I whispered, brushing a thumb gently across her head.
“Daddeh…” she sniffled. “Wha… wha name babbeh? Pwease? Daddeh gif name…”
I looked down at the squirming little bundle nestled into her fluff. Her tiny face was barely visible under all that pink and white. Her little mouth opened and closed like she was trying to chirp.
“Gumdrop,” I said softly.
“Gumdwop…” Blossom repeated, voice cracking. “Dat am pwetty name… fow pwetty babbeh… fank yu, Daddeh…”
She curled protectively around her single living foal, completely unaware of what she’d lost.
There was a long moment of silence. The heat lamp buzzed softly above us.
Then Lila leaned back and looked at me, one brow raised just slightly. “You’re new to fluffies, huh?”
I let out a soft, tired laugh. “How could you tell?”
She smiled. “You’re doing that thing. The one new owners do when they’re trying to figure out if they’re in over their head.”
“Am I?” I asked, glancing back at Blossom, who was now snoring gently with Gumdrop tucked under her foreleg.
Lila shrugged. “A little. But you care. That’s more than a lot of them get.”
I let the words settle. She wasn’t wrong.
“I didn’t expect to care,” I admitted. “I didn’t even expect to have them.”
“Well,” Lila said, standing and stretching, “sometimes that’s how it happens. One day you’re on your own, and the next, you’ve got two mouths to feed and a nesting box to set up.”
I looked up. “Nesting box?”
She smirked. “Oh yeah. Whole aisle of them. Different sizes, liners, warmers, chew-proof corners. You name it.”
Of course there was.
I looked back down at the little sleeping family.
Maybe I was in over my head.
But for the first time in a long time… I didn’t feel alone.
Little Blueberry looked totally in shock—his little mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly as he stared at Blossom and the tiny pink-and-white bundle nestled against her fluff.
But even in his awe, his excitement didn’t go anywhere. He started dancing around my feet in tight little circles, his hooves tapping rapidly against the floor.
“Daddeh! Daddeh! Upsies! Wan see babbeh! Upsies pwease!!”
I reached down to grab him, but Lila gently touched my arm.
“Careful. It’s best not to let him crowd her yet—especially since she just delivered. Emotions get… complicated. Let her settle in.”
I nodded, crouched down, and gently scooped Blueberry up under his outstretched forelegs. He let out a soft “eep!” as I pulled him up against my side, holding him securely with one arm.
He immediately latched on, his tiny legs wrapping around my torso in a loose hug, tail flicking as he leaned toward the table.
“Look, buddy,” I said softly, nodding toward the sleepy, glowing mess of new motherhood. “That’s your baby. You’re a daddy now too.”
His whole body tensed with excitement.
“Bwuebewwy am… Daddeh…? Su happy!! Bwuebewwy hab pwettiest babbeh!!” he squealed with pride.
I held him tighter, resting my hand gently across his back. His little heart was hammering away in his chest.
Just then, Gumdrop let out her first real sound—an insistent series of high-pitched peeps, loud and hungry and demanding.
Blossom stirred instantly, blinking open her eyes halfway, groggy but instinctively alert. She shifted, then sat up slowly, her huge belly now reduced to soft sagging fluff and exposed, swollen teats.
Crotch boobs, I thought absently. Yep. That’s a thing now.
Gumdrop peeped louder, blindly crawling across the towel, little nose twitching as she searched for warmth and milk.
Lila moved in quickly, efficient and calm. “Let’s move them to a nesting station,” she said, already scooping Blossom up with practiced ease. She cradled both mother and foal and walked them over to a wall lined with built-in, softly lit nests—each with heating pads, privacy panels, and soft fleece padding.
She lowered them gently into one of the nests, Blossom letting out a soft coo as she curled around her baby once more.
Within seconds, Gumdrop had found her way to a teat and latched on. The sound of little suckling filled the quiet room.
Blossom, now halfway asleep again, began to sing softly—some nonsense lullaby only a fluffy could come up with:
“Babbeh dwink miwkies an’ get big an’ stwong… be happeh babbeh… Mummah wub babbeh an’ babbeh wuv Mummah…”
Blueberry sighed contentedly against my chest, his little body finally relaxing as he watched his mate and daughter drift off into post-birth bliss.
But my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Just a few hours ago, I was expecting to spend the day hauling boxes, checking for leaks, and maybe pulling up some old carpet. I wasn’t supposed to be here—inside a pastel-colored FluffMart, holding a trembling ball of fur who I was now responsible for watching his “special friend” nurse a newborn in a glowing little nest.
I came to that house planning to crash and maybe watch some TV that night on the comfort of the old couch I had watched many a cartoon on. Do some renovations. Settle into a new, still lonely, single life.
Instead… I got a family.
That dark, unmentionable itch stayed sated throughout the experience. Maybe it was even gone.
And somehow, despite everything… I wasn’t sure I minded.
Not even a little.