“Hey Peaches!” Cassandra shouts as she walks through the front door, carrying what looks like a small takeout box. “I have a surprise for you!”
Peaches, a bubbly young mare with coral-toned fur, tumbles down the steps and into the living room. “Ow!” she says, hitting her head on a wall. Cassandra laughs.
“Haha… you gotta be more careful, silly.”
“Sowwy Mummuh…” Peaches says, eyes directed at the floor.
“Don’t worry sweetie. Anyways, I just came back from FluffMart, and you won’t believe what I got you!”
Peaches’ eyes light up: Cassandra often brings home gifts for her, usually after long periods of claiming to not have the time or energy to give her the attention she deserves. Last time, it was a brand new sketti bowl… What could it be this time? She’s anxious to find out.
“Oooh! Wut is id??” she says while bouncing up and down. Cassandra looks at her for a moment, and pauses, with a slight smirk as she gently shakes the box.
“Hmm… well, why don’t you just see for yourself!” she says as she crouches down on the ground, opens the top of the box, and sets it before Peaches. Peaches bounds over to it, and puts her snout right at the opening. The box wiggles for a moment, and a tiny “peep!” escapes from within. Peaches heart is racing, feeling like she’s gonna explode from the anticipation: until suddenly, a tiny head pokes itself up and out of the opening, greeting her with two sparkling, innocent little eyes. Its white fur is fluffy enough to make it look like a cloud.
“Woah… ah tiny babbeh??” She says, looking up at Cassandra.
“Yep! That right there is a cottonfluff fluffy. He’ll never get any bigger than a few inches: and, the best part, he’s all yours!”
Peaches looks back down at the little, barely sentient puffball as he makes a pathetic attempt to escape the box, and immediately falls in love. He’s mah babbeh nauw, she thinks to herself, and gently tips over the box to let him out. The poor little guy falls on his head and lets out a loud “peep!” as he rolls across the floor like a tiny tumbleweed.
“BABBEH!!” Peaches yells as she goes to comfort him. “Fwuffy sowwy…”
Thankfully, he calms down pretty much right away, and then finds himself snuggling in her warm fur. Peaches looks down at him, and gives him a kiss on the forehead. This might be the happiest moment of her life.
“Aw’ll name u… Pubbball!” she says excitedly.
“That’s a great name, sweetie.” Cassandra then stands up, her expression shifting to something more sinister.
“Oh, by the way…” she says, tilting her head downwards. “You’re the one who will have to take care of him.”
…Two Days Later…
“Peaches! Where’d you put Puffball?”
“Fwu… fwuffy dunno!” she says in a panic.
“Why didn’t you put him back in his playpen earlier like I told you?!”
She looks down, trying to hold back tears. She didn’t mean to forget: fluffies are known to have a poor memory, after all.
“Ugh…” Cassandra sighs. “I’ll help you look for him. But you need to learn some responsibility… honestly, he’s your pet.”
Peaches follows her, ears pinned to her head in shame. The both of them search the entire house, looking under the bed, in the cupboards, and even inside the dryer… to no avail.
“Honestly, Peaches,” she says, rubbing her temples with her right hand. “It’s only been two days, and you already f#cked up.”
Peaches, trying to hold back tears, tries to think of something to say. Pweaches id a tewwible mummuh, she thinks to herself. That happiness she felt when she met Puffball was now turning to guilt: and she might never forgive herself if something happens to him.
“Like I really don’t get it. Was it that hard for you to remember to put him back?” Cassandra says in a cruel tone. “You know he’ll probably starve because of you, right?”
Tears now roll down Peaches cheeks, soaking the soft fur on them.
“Fwuffy sowwy…” she says through her sobbing. “Fwuffy habe a hward twime ‘memberwing tings…”
Just as Cassandra is about to scold her again, they both hear a frantic peeping sound, followed by a few tiny splashes coming from the guest bathroom.
“PUBBBALL!!!” Peaches shouts as she darts to the bathroom, smacks her head into the door, and starts crying for Cassandra to come open the door. Once the door is open, she props herself up to look over the toilet seat: inside the bowl is Puffball, trying his best to keep his head above the water, but quickly running out of stamina.
“NUUUUUU!!! MUMMUH! HEWP HIM!!”
Cassandra rolls her eyes, grabs the toilet brush, and fishes the little guy out.
“Disgusting,” she says, tossing him in the sink to rinse him off. The water covers his face for a split second as she turns the faucet off, and hands him back to Peaches. “Dry him off, and don’t lose him again. You need to put him in his playpen when you’re not playing. He could have died because of you, you know that right?”
“Fwuffy sowwy, it’s jwust hawd tu ‘member–”
“Quit making excuses.”
“Otay… I’ll twy–”
“Don’t ‘try.’ Do,” Cassandra says coldly: clearly having no intention of helping her with the task.
She holds back tears once again, scared that she’ll lose her beloved Puffball for good next time. Cassandra leaves the bathroom, and Peaches dries him off with her fur. He coughs a couple of times: he definitely inhaled a little water.
…The Next Day…
“God,” Peaches hears Cassandra shout from the kitchen. “What the f#ck is that smell?!” she says as she storms into the living room. “Have you even been cleaning that pen at all?!”
Looking at the playpen, it’s obvious that it hasn’t been properly cleaned in days. Feces lines the edges of it, the bedding that originally was nice and clean now soaked in urine and general filth. Puffball sneezes a couple of times, pathetically laying in the only clean spot left in the pen.
“Peaches. Answer me.”
“Fwuff… Fwuffy cwan’t do it by fwuff’self!”
Cassandra sighs. “Peaches,” she says in a soft, yet condescending tone. “I got you this pet to teach you some responsibility. Why are you letting me down?”
Peaches looks over at the cleaning supplies that she was provided: a spray bottle, some paper towels, a litter scoop (with a handle), and other various tools that require opposable thumbs. She then looks down at her hooves, which she has tried to use to pick up the scoop, grab the paper towels, and even attempt to squeeze the nozzle on the spray bottle; to no avail. She isn’t capable of completing this task on her own, yet internally, she still blames herself for the horrid living conditions that Puffball has been forced into. Tears start to well up in her eyes as they meet his, seeing how miserable he looks.
“Fwuffy twying!”
“Ugh… what did I tell you yesterday?”
“Dwon’t twy… du,” she says, eyes now directed at the side of the room opposite from the pen. She can’t bear to see him like this, and at this point, almost wishes that he was never gifted to her. She loves him, she’d die for him, but hates herself for not being able to give him the life he deserves. In her mind, she is the one who is failing her beloved Puffball. Even if it’s not true, even if this really is Cassandra’s fault for thinking that this was a good gift, she doesn’t know that. Fluffies, like children, tend to trust their caregiver: and if that caregiver forces them to care for something else, and tells them that its life should be their responsibility, they’ll believe it, and they’ll blame themself for anything that happens to what they’re already incapable of caring for to begin with.
“That’s right,” Cassandra replies. “Now, go get it done, or no sketties tonight.”
Peaches sulks on over to the pen, and rips off a bunch of paper towels from the roll with her mouth before gently lifting Puffball up with her mouth and placing him in the box he came in so that he doesn’t wander off.
She tries, clumsily, to clean his pen for what felt like hours. Kicking the scoop around to try and pick up the dirty litter, knocking over (and spilling the contents of) the spray bottle in an attempt to use the cleaner inside, all while the urine odor and ammonia burn her nose leaves her exhausted. She has already been doing this twice a day, every day since he was given to her, yet every day, it looks worse than the last. As if blaming herself for Puffball’s suffering wasn’t enough, she feels hopeless, even like she’s drowning; as if she has been digging a hole in dry sand, more sand being poured into it every time she makes any kind of meaningful progress.
Her heart sinks as she glances at him, and realizes she just can’t do it. Finally, she gets the pen half clean, and decides to give up. Her little hooves just were not made for cleaning.
…Three Days Later…
“Ah.. Ah… Ahchoo!!”
Puffball has been sneezing for the past few days, more and more frequently with every passing hour. His energy level has diminished, him becoming almost lethargic. With every sneeze, Peaches’ guilt grows.
“Mummuh!” she says. “Swometing’s wong wit Pubbball!”
“He’ll be fine. It’s probably just because of that damn pen stinking so bad.”
“Bwut Pubbball’s swick… cwan we twake him tu de wet?”
“No,” Cassandra says sharply. “We don’t have the money. Plus, I’m not wasting money on something I got for five dollars. Just clean the pen, and he’ll be fine.”
“Otay Mummah…” Peaches says, ready to do anything it takes to save her beloved Puffball. She tries to clean the pen again, this time toiling the entire day, her frustration growing every time she drops the scoop or knocks over the spray bottle. Tears well up in her eyes as she tries and tries to get it done, not only from the urine fumes stinging them, but from the realization that this was futile.
The next morning, she wakes up, and goes to say good morning to Puffball. Climbing over the wall of the pen, she sees him curled up a ball. Thinking he was just sleeping, she nudges him with her nose, hoping to feel his warm little body softly breathing: only to find him stiff and cold.
Her heart drops to her stomach: she’s failed him.
“I sowwy Pubbball…” she says, sobbing.
Cassandra walks into the room, seeing her crying over Puffball’s body.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion. “We’ll have to get you a new one.”
