You bake a fresh homemade apple pie every weekend for when your nieces and nephews come over to visit. After baking you always leave the pie on the windowsill for a few minutes to cool off. The past two weeks, however, this rewarding weekly hobby has been spoiled by an unseen animal helping itself to the fruits of your labor. The first week it managed to eat the whole thing, leaving only a sloppy mess of a pie tin in it’s wake. The second time, you kept a closer eye on it, but when it came time to get the door, whatever it was managed to get in a few bites while you were in the other room, and the rest had to be discarded. This issue will be solved next week.
The next day, you set up a video camera in the kitchen and buy a quick-bake apple pie at the grocery store. After baking for an hour you leave it on the windowsill as you usually do and leave for a while. When you come back, the pie is half eaten. Time to identify the culprit.
Reviewing the footage, you initially suspect a bird, squirrel, or one of the other woodland creatures that wander out of the nearby forest into your suburban neighborhood. What popped up about 10 minutes into the footage, however, pissed you off even more.
A fat little fluffy stallion with a white coat and brown mane waddles onto your back porch and started climbing the chair next to your window. With a few gleeful chirps, he tore into the pie.
“Hehehe, dummeh hoomins weave bestest nummies out fo smawty! Tummeh nummies aww fo bestest fwuffy!”
As soon as he heard the doorknob to the kitchen turn, he made a nervous squeak and clumsily stumbled off the porch and disappeared out of view.
Fucking vermin, if it was an animal that didn’t know any better this wouldn’t feel personal, but this smarty bastard would likely call you a dummy and shit on your kitchen floor while eating your pie in front of you like the narcissistic prick he is. You don’t know if it’s someone’s pet or a stray, but you didn’t care. You know exactly how you’re gonna get him.
You hold the window open by putting a stick between the sill and the glass. Remove that stick and the glass will come down like a guillotine, hard enough to crush a fluffy spine. All you needed was a long enough string and a hiding place, and you just so had access to both. To add insult to injury, you decided to get creative with the bait. Instead of a straight apple pie, we can see how he likes it with a few carolina reaper peppers thrown in for good measure. You wanted to make it all carolina reapers, but the familiar smell of fresh baked apples would do a better job at drawing him in. Finally, you have a crow call, to help discard of the inevitable mess.
With everything in place, you hide behind the table and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Within a few minutes, you hear the sound of soft little hoofpads trotting on your wooden porch. Then a high-pitched grunt as he jumped his fat ass onto your lawn chair to reach the pie. You made sure to put it on the inside of the windowsill this time so the fluffy would have to reach through the window to get to it. He stuck his head in and wiggled closer, so the glass was above his back just below his front legs.
“Smawty wuv nummeh pie! Squee! Bestest pie fo bestest fwuffy!”
He greedily dug into the pie but stopped after a few bites as the heat crept up on him.
“Tu hawt! Pie gif fwuffy buwny moufee owwies! Nee wawa!”
Now.
You pull the string, releasing the stick holding up the window and sending it slamming into the young smarty’s back right below his front shoulders with an audible crack. The force causes his legs to splay in each direction and knock the rest of the pie on the ground. Blood started leaking out of his nose and shit sprayed out of his ass.
“BACKIE OWWIES! HU HU HU! MEANIE WINDOW HUWT FWUFFY’S BACK AN MEANIE PIE BUWN FWUFFY’S MOUF! WOWST OWWIES EVAH! SQUEEEE SQUEEEEEEE!!!”
His screaming was almost enough to make you feel sorry for the little guy. Key word: almost. You decide to introduce yourself. He’s struggling to get away as he’s pinned under the window. His back legs are flailing, which means you didn’t break the spinal cord, just a few vertebrae.
“Pw-p-puh- pwease nice mistuh, hewp fwuffy… sabe fwuffy fwum meanie window.” His voice is stuttering and full of fear.
“Nice mister, huh? Just yesterday you called me a dummy human while eating the pie I had made for my family.”
“Fw-fwuffy sowwy! Pwease nu gif fwuffy nu mowe huwties! Fwuffy pwomise not tu nummeh nice mustuh’s pie gain!”
He started squeaking and shitting in pain and terror again, then you pull out your crow call.
“Wha-wha dat?”
“It’s a tool I can use to call over my birdie friends to clean up bad fluffies like you.”
Without another word, you blow into the whistle. A few seconds later, you get a response from the trees outside. Two crows fly down onto your windowsill and start pecking away atnthe smarty’s lower half.
“NU! WEAVE SMAWTY AWONE DUMMEH BIWDIES! OWWIES! SMAWTY NU AM NUMMEH! PWEASE HEWP FWUFFY! NUUUUUU!!!”
The crows tear off the fluffy’s hind legs and start pulling out his organs. His screams and chirps of pain give way to soft, defeated moans. He spits up blood, then goes limp. You open the window and push the fluffy’s carcass onto the porch for your crow friends to finish.
The next weekend, you decide to make your nieces and nephews a new fresh-baked apple pie with a spaghetti dinner, and this time, nothing bothered your pie while it was sitting on the windowsill.
No wonder you get so few stray fluffies around here, with so many well-trained crows to keep them at bay.