Your name is reginald. You are a bad fluffy.
Now noone has ever told you that you’re a bad fluffy. In most estimations you would be declared a good fluffy. A model representative of your species. You’re not a good fluffy though. You’re a BAD fluffy. It’s not something you’ve ever actually said outloud but in your heart you know it.
You live with your mummah and your daddeh. Your daddehs name is John, you know that because that’s what mummah calls him. You don’t know your mummahs name though because your daddeh just calls her mummah, he just says it in a way that’s hard for you to say. Sometimes you wonder about how if mummah is daddehs mummah then wouldn’t that make daddeh your bwuddah. That gets confusing though and makes your thinky place hurt so you don’t consider it more than once a day.
You love your mummah and your daddeh very much. You had the biggest heart happies when mummah brought you home. Mummah found you in in the parking lot all alone in a box one day when she was buying grocceries. You were just a little chirpeh babbeh then so you don’t really remember much, just how happy you felt when she picked you up and gave you a name. You were so happy when you got home and met Daddeh too. Daddeh didn’t say or do much, he just gave you a small pat on the head and said “He’s pretty cute.” You will never forget that, the very first thing Daddeh ever said to you.
You’d think Mummah would have been the one to take care of you, since she brought you home and all, but Mummah is OLD. You’re not sure how old she is but your Daddeh has a sistah and her babbehs come to visit a lot and some of them are grown ups so Mummah must be pretty old if her babbehs babbeh is already a soon mummah. Mummah has trouble walking so she stays in bed watching teebee most of the time. But sometimes she’ll go out to the store or to stay with her other old lady friends. But mostly she’s in bed. So Daddeh is the one who raised you.
For what felt like many forevers you were kept in a small box next to Daddehs bed. He’d give you a bottle of milkies anytime you got hungry. He’d clean up your poopies. He’d brush your fur so it never felt itchy. Daddeh did EVERYTHING for you. You didn’t know yet that you were a bad fluffy.
When you were a babbeh you didn’t realize how quiet Daddeh was, you were too focused on the milkies or his petting you, or trying to peep out words. It wasn’t until you got a bit older you started to notice something wrong.
Every day without fail Daddeh would get up and clean your wittahbox. He’d give you wawah and nummies. He’d pet your head and call you a good fluffy. But your Daddeh would never play with you. He would just lay in bed. Sometimes on he’d look at his tawkie screen but most of the time he would sleep. He’d sleep for many forevers until Mummah was hungry or needed help, then he would get up just long enough to make sure you were both ok and then he would sleep more.
Mummah would let you watch teebee with her and would sit and talk to you all day. She would tell you about so many things and answer all your questions. But Mummah didn’t feed you. Mummah would laugh when you did dancies and she’d smile when you gave her huggies. Daddeh never wanted to play, and he didn’t talk or tell your stories. He wouldn’t get mad or yell when you tried. He’d just pat your head and tell you he was just too tired.
Daddeh NEVER got angry in fact. The day you figured out you were a bad fluffy was a rare one. You had an accident. Mummah would get angry and yell at you the few times it would happen. Daddeh would never yell or get angry even though he had to clean it up though you would try your best to help, usually by rubbing a spot six inches away with a paper towel while Daddeh cleaned up the actual mess. Today wasn’t any different, and perhaps if you were a different fluffy you might not have even noticed and would still be blissfully unaware how bad a fluffy you are. Daddeh didn’t get mad or yell today no, but when he walked in mummahs room and you saw his face he just looked so saddies. He didn’t say anything. He just sighed and cleaned up your poopies. In that moment a connection clicked in your head. You did something bad and Daddeh was sad.
You spent many forevers thinking about that. Your nestie was in daddeh’s room and you’d just lay there watching him while he slept. Suddenly it was all clear. Daddeh always had saddies. He never wanted to play, or read stories. He just layed there and had saddies all day. When you did something bad, Daddeh got saddies. Daddeh was almost always saddies. You made Daddeh saddies almost all the times.
You’re a bad fluffy. You don’t deserve your nummies or your warm nestie. You don’t derve to watch teebee or play with your Mummah. Daddeh is saddies, it’s your fault. You have no idea what you did. How could you do that to Daddeh. Daddeh does everything for you and you were bad and made him saddies. If you knew what you did to make him so saddies all the time you’d stop. But you don’t and that just makes you even worse because you’re a dummeh.
You are a bad Fluffy.
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Damn
Noooo 
I’d feel horrible if my pets were smart enough to think this.
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Bless him.
I’d love to see more from these characters, though this piece is incredibly poignant by itself. 
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