You’re the owner of an adorable tan fluffy named Gadget. His littermates were Penny and Brain. Yes, your sister is a massive nerd. She let you keep Gadget, and Penny and Brain stayed with her.
You love Gadget. He’s such a lovable scamp! A little bird-brained, like his namesake, but that’s fairly typical for a fluffy.
You wake up with the sensation of suffocation and realize something furry is laying on your face. Oh. Gadget is on your head again. You let him sleep in bed with you, but somehow he always migrates so he’s sleeping on your face. It’s adorable, but you keep waking up unable to breathe. If you weren’t already used to that from a lifetime of sleep apnea, it might actually kill you one day.
You gently lift Gadget off your face, ignoring the dirty look he gives you as you disturb his sleep, and glance at the clock. Four in the morning. Bleagh. You lay back down, cuddling Gadget against you, and fall back asleep.
You wake up again as the alarm clock goes off at seven, remove Gadget from your face, and head for the stairs so you can cook breakfast. Gadget races to join you, getting between your legs and tripping you just as you’re about to hit the stairs. You fall and catch yourself on the railing just in time. Whew! That could have been nasty.
Gadget is looking at you with an expression of pure horror on his face and you ruffle his mane to reassure him.
“Hey, careful buddy! I know you’re hungry, but you need to be careful! I almost fell down the stairs! Now c’mon, let’s go get breakfast.”
You set Gadget in his fluffy high chair and set his plate in front of him. You made him a large omelet, light on the eggs, heavy on the tomatoes, onions, bell pepper, and spinach, a small bowl of fresh grapes, and some orange juice for him to lap up. He wolfs his breakfast down before you even finish your omelet and asks to be let down. You set him down on the floor and finish your own breakfast. Ah, delicious!
Gathering your plate and glass, you stand up to set them in the sink and skid. You just have time to look down and realize you’re slipping in fluffy poop on your smooth, tile floor when you hit the ground and drop your glass and plate with the sound of shattering glass. You blink, but before you can even sit up, something hits you in the chest, hard.
“OOF!”
You look up and Gadget is on your chest. He must have climbed up on the counter somehow, and jumped off to hug you when he saw you slip and fall.
“I’m ok, little guy! But you need to make poopies in the litter box, remember?”
He nods and trots off and you start cleaning up broken glass. Ouch. You’ve got a nasty cut on your left pec, must’ve landed on the glass somehow.
You sweep up the broken glass, retrieve your silverware… huh. There’s a steak knife under the table. That should be in the block on the counter. Weird. You pick it up and toss it in the sink to be washed and dump the broken glass into the trash. The bad poopies are easily wiped up with some paper towels and a little Windex.
Hmmm. You should vacuum the floor. There could still be small glass splinters on the floor you missed, and you don’t want to step on them in your bare foot. They might even hurt Gadget’s little leathery hooves!
You retrieve the vacuum from its place by the coat rack, wheel it into the kitchen, and plug it in.
POP!
Sparks and smoke flash and you jump in surprise, then yank the cord out of the socket. What the-
Oh.
“Gadget! Come here, right now!”
Gadget dutifully trots into the kitchen, sees that you’re upset, and looks crestfallen.
“Look at this cord! You’ve chewed all the way through the insulation! I’ve told you, cords are not spaghetti and you shouldn’t be chewing on them! You could hurt yourself! Now go sit in the sorry box while I deal with this.”
Gadget walks off, head hung low, and you sigh in irritation.
Then you notice that he apparently spilled his water dish near the vacuum. Good thing you weren’t standing in the puddle when it sparked like that!
You’re Gadget, fluffy pony. And you are going to kill that insufferable idiot if it’s the last thing you do.