Image credit: @InfraredTurbine
Racecar was seated in his very best, very favorite pillow holder. It was soft and smelled of lavender, lined with microfleece that felt nice on his bare stumpies, especially when they get chafed or chapped. It was one of the few things his daddeh was absolutely meticulous about. Racecar wasn’t clear as to why, but daddeh seemed to pay it close attention. He was glad that daddeh picked this of all things to be a good daddeh about. It’s the place Racecar watches teebee and relaxes after a long day of daddeh throwing individual grains of uncooked rice at him from behind the sofa. It makes him feel safe and secure when nothing else can. If not for this bed, he’d have never lasted this long. But all his endless suffering is tempered with the knowledge that his soft safe place will be there. That he’ll be okay.
So when daddeh moves it, lets him use it somewhere he normally wouldn’t, it’s a mixed bag. Exciting because hey: Cool fluffy up on the table? Fuck yeah. On the other hand, maybe it’s being used to soften bad news. Fuck not yeah.
Daddeh sat down at the table across from Racecar, who looked on with the half awake glazed over expression he usually enters into daddeh’s games with. Daddeh snapped his fingers in front of him, and Racecar blinked back to awareness. To his credit, he didn’t jump at that most days. Real improvement over just a year ago.
Daddeh didn’t wait for acknowledgement. Racecar knew listening was his job, not daddeh’s. Daddeh’s job is to be mean to Racecar.
“Buddy, I have an offer to make. I’ve got kind of a lot going on these next few months, and I just won’t be able to play the fun games we both like playing.” This is a trap. Daddeh wants Racecar to object, to say he doesn’t like the games. But if he does, daddeh will act all hurt and use Racecar’s uncertainty and gentle nature to emotionally manipulate him into even worse situations. Racecar stays strong.
“Because of this, we’ve got two options. You can stay here with all your things and daddeh, or daddeh will send you to stay with a guy he knows who owns a fluffalo. He said they could watch you for a bit if you wanted.” Racecar was split. On the one hand, daddeh doesn’t have time for games. On the other hand, some of daddeh’s WORST and LEAST FUN games are ones that he doesn’t have to do anything for. Sometimes he just lies to Racecar and gets his hopes up, only to just let the date and time or situation that a promise was to be fulfilled pass by unremarked. If Racecar speaks up, he just feigns ignorance or makes another promise to ignore later.
Racecar has fallen for it many times. He is desperate not to do so today. This feels different.
“Now I know what you’re thinking pal, which place would be the least awful? This is an excellent question, and the answer may surprise you.” Daddeh paused for a reaction that never came, so he continued. “See if you stay with Daddeg’s friend, whatever happens is up to him. I met him a few times, he’s a very nice man with a very sweet fluffalo named Arnold. I met them through Baxter, I guess he and Arnold are very close. You remember Baxter, right? From that martial arts tournament you botched?”
More bait. He’s give Racecar crucial information, but paired it with a direct jab. Racecar didn’t mess up that tournament! Racecar has no weggies! He couldn’t DO enough to mess it up! No, the important part is Baxter. That sawed off little ragebucket was a handful and while he didn’t do any real physical damage to Racecar, the idea of a similarly disposed fluffalo made Racecar shudder in his nice soft pouch.
“Wacecaw memba.”
“Great. Anyway you can stay there, or you stay here and daddeh lays off for a few months. It’ll be normal, only I’ll be here a lot less and when I am I’ll mostly be watching tv, cooking, eating, recovering from a busy day, or sleeping.” Racecar sensed a “but” coming.
“But, if you stay here, I’m not gonna make it easy for you. I won’t be tormenting you. Won’t even be lying to you. I’m certainly not now.” Daddeh was right. Very rarely does he admit to purposely upsetting Racecar, preferring instead to make Racecar doubt himself and his sanity.
“Wat daddeh mean?” His daddeh fought a smile, but Racecar’s eyes are as fast and agile as the rest of him…isn’t. He saw it. “Simple. If you stay here, your kibble will be replaced by this.” He retrieves a small cereal box, shorter and thinner than the rest. It featured a nondescript lumpy brown cereal, tiny pieces. It sounded like a maraca.
“Grape Nuts. This one is nutritionally identical to your regular kibble. In fact, it’s better in most areas. Thing is,” he makes a face, “there’s a drawback.” He pours it into a bowl and slides it across the table to Racecar, who sniffs it. It smells just like normal grain cereal, nothing nefarious or odd. “Go on buddy, take a bite. It’s not dangerous, you just probably won’t like it.”
He gingerly took up a mouthful. It was rough, coarse, and really crunchy. Dense, too. Much more than it looked. As he crunched and swallowed he realized it was also quite dry. He found himself not even questioning the water dish that seemed to magically appear. Daddeh had been prepared it seems, and he needed the water badly.
He drank almost all of it and returned to the bowl of cereal. He was again torn: It tasted alright and it was definitely making his tummeh have fewer and less severe saddies and angwies, but the act of eating it was DISTINCTLY unpleasant. His mouth dried out with each bite and rehydration was a chore. Plus he ran out after a couple bites, and daddeh had to keep refilling it. Racecar has never needed so much water while having nummies before!
“Nyum, gmum, gnaaaa!” He voiced sounds while trying to spur his salivary glands to aid his poor dry moufie. “Huuu daddeh dif am tuu dwy, pweafe nu mowe cwunchy nummief…” He laughed. “Okay, but if you decide you’re done with the crunchy nummies, you have to go to daddeh’s friend for a few months.”
Racecar was puzzled, and cocked his head. “How wong munf?” Daddeh laughed again. “Five sketty days. It would be four months, so that’s twenty.” These huge numbers were too much for Racecar, but he had choked the food down. Maybe this would work out…
“Wacecaw stay hewe, hab meanie dwy nummies fwum daddeh.” This time, he didn’t laugh. He made a confused face. “Dry? Oh the cereal isn’t bad because it’s dry. I just thought you were thirsty buddy, shit. We can soften that right up for you with some milk.” Now it was Racecar’s turn to be confused. “Su…huuuu nu wan askies…su wat…wat am meanie pawt ub nummies? Daddeh awway pway meanie twick, onwy ebba gib Wacecaw gud fing if can be meanies fing eben watew! Wat wong wif nummies!?” He puffed his cheeks in a rare show of force. He’d followed the masterful web of lies with ease this time, and letting daddeh realize that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was on a heater.
And you don’t walk away from a heater.
Daddeh smiled, not a cruel or scary one, but a genuine one. “Huh. Guess I’ve gotten a bit predictable. I’m proud of you, Racecar. You’re a lot smarter than you-”
"Shaddup. Wat. Wong. Wif. NUMMIES!?" Go big or go home. If he’s gonna draw a line, it’s here. Distressingly, daddeh only looks more pleased with Racecar. It’s weird. Weird is bad. Weird is scary and gives bad hurties to good Racecars, and he’s one of those! Daddeh softly stroked his mane and then rubbed under his chin like he likes.
“You’ll figure that out when you’re shitting it out later. Hope you like sitting in the litterbox for a long time pal because as dry as it was going in?” He ruffles Racecar’s head fluff like an older brother or a non-molesty soccer coach.
“It’ll be twice as dry coming out.”