Hey, everyone. It’s been a while, huh? Life gets in the way of things, and…yeah. So here I am. I’m going to finally polish Rosemary up and re-post it like I promised I was going to do a while back. I should be posting parts every couple of days, and once that’s done I’m hoping to finish a new story with the same characters. I’ve started on the follow-up teased at the end of this story. Fingers crossed that I finish it.
Anyway, here’s the first fluffy story I ever wrote, a story that wound up being over 50,000 words in its entirety. For those of you who have never read it, I hope you enjoy it.
John was cleaning up his garage when he heard the screaming.
Winter had finally started to set in, and he’d always loved the cold weather. It seemed like as good a time as any to reorganize a bit, get rid of some old junk. The garage door was open so that he could enjoy the chill in the air. As he tossed another bag into the garbage can he heard the high-pitched voice coming around the side of his house.
“NUUUUUU! NUUUUUU HUWTY BABBEH! MUMMAH! MUMMAH HEWP BABBEH! NUUU NUUUU NUUUUUUUUU!”
He stepped outside and looked around just in time to see a small fluffy pony running toward his front yard, sprinting as fast as its little legs could carry it. Unfortunately for the fluffy its legs couldn’t carry it as fast as its pursuer could run - a sleek orange tabby, its face and paws already smeared with blood. The cat closed the gap in just a couple of seconds and pounced on the crying fluffy.
“NUUUUU, KITTEH MUNSTAH!” it sobbed. “AM ONWY BABBEH! NU NUM BABBEH! HUUUU HUUU HUUUUUUU!” As it sobbed, the cat sank its teeth into the fluffy’s scruff. The fluffy screamed in pain again and tried to struggle, but it wasn’t able to put up much of a fight. About the size of a large hamster, it was no match for the cat. The cat swung its head and let the fluffy go, sending it soaring through the air. The fluffy landed a couple of feet away and tried to stand.
“BIGGEST OWWIES,” cried the fluffy. “KITTEH MUNSTAH GIVE WOWSTEST OWWIES! NU WANT! MUMMAH! MUMMAH HEWP BESTEST BABBEH!”
The cat crouched low, staring intently at the struggling fluffy, and swished its tail.
Son of a bitch, John thought. That fucker’s playing with its food.
John had never been a huge fan of fluffies, but he instinctively felt bad for the little sobbing thing. He probably would have felt the same way for a squirrel or a chipmunk, too. He reached over to the table sitting just inside the garage door, grabbed his glass of water, and with a swing of his arm he splashed the contents all over the cat.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” he yelled at the confused, soaked cat. Cold, wet, and confronted with an angry human, it decided the fluffy wasn’t worth it. With a quick hiss it turned and bolted back into the woods.
John turned his attention to the fluffy. It had struggled to its feet and was trying to run away again, but the impact from being thrown had winded it and hurt its legs. I know they’re fragile little things, he thought, but it didn’t get thrown THAT far. It was a pale yellow, and old enough that its canary yellow mane had come in fully. Yellow on yellow. It was actually kind of cute, in an annoying kind of way. He took a few steps closer and it looked up at him, terrified.
“HOOMIN MUNSTAH PWEASE NU HUWT BABBEH! AM BESTEST BABBEH, NEE HUGGIES AN WUV! HUUU HUUU HUUUUUU!” It tried to scramble backwards to escape and wound up toppling over, waving its stubby little legs wildly in the air. Its words dissolved into a series of peeps and cheeps as it pissed and shit itself in fear. A quick look at its fur showed that this wasn’t the first time it had soiled itself today.
“Jesus Christ,” John muttered. “I’m not gonna…” he sighed and crouched beside the sobbing bundle of fluff. He lowered his voice a couple of octaves and very quietly said “look, little fluffy. You’re safe now, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. Do you want me to take you to your mother? Where is she?”
The fluffy stopped waving its legs around and looked up at John, sniffling. “Hoomin munstah nu huwt widdwe babbeh?”
“Jesus, no. I’m not a monster. Where’s your mother?”
It sniffled again, then started sobbing. “Mummah take fowevah-sweepies. Bwuddah an sistahs aww take fowevah-sweepies! Kitteh munstah make AWW FWUFFY FAMIWY TAKE FOWEVAH-SWEEPIES HUUUU HUUUU HUUUUUUU!”
But you ran, and that cat was preoccupied with them for so long that you almost got away. Almost. And if you knew your mom was already dead, why were you screaming for her to help you? I guess it must have been some sort of instinct thing. Programmed responses. Weird.
“Okay, okay okay. Look, I don’t know what to do with you.” He looked a little more closely and saw that the cat’s bite had drawn some blood, which was dotting the fluffy’s pale yellow fur. “But you’re hurt, and you’re covered in shit and piss. I can clean you up and get you something warm to sleep in while I figure out what to do with you.”
The tears stopped immediately. A quick sniffle, then a wide-eyed, hopeful whisper. “Hoomin be nyu daddeh? Wuv fwuffy?”
“I’m not gonna be your dad, kid, I…”
“Why hoomin nu wuv fwuffy? Am gud fwuffy, am bestest babbeh. Why hoomin nu wan be nyu daddeh?” It looked like it was about to start sobbing again. “Huu, huu h…”
“Stop it. Look, do you want me to clean you up or not? You look like shit, and I can smell you from up here.”
“Fwuffy nu smeww pwetty. Hewp fwuffy smeww pwetty?” It looked so suddenly hopeful.
“Yeah, I can do that.” John walked over and grabbed an old towel, then bent down and scooped up the fluffy, bundling it up without ever touching its filth.
“Fwuffy wike upsies!” it exclaimed, then started giggling.
You were almost dead less than five minutes ago, and now you’re giggling. You really are dumb as hell, huh?
“NUUUUU, NYU DADDEH! NUUUUU! WAWA AM BAD FO FWUFFIES!” The little thing was screaming again, staring from its towel-bundle beside the sink as the warm water streamed out of the faucet.
“I know, little thing, I’ve heard how easily you all drown. Again, also, not your damn daddy. So stop that. I’m not going to drown you, okay? I’m going to get you cleaned up so I can see how badly you’re hurt.”
“Nyu daddeh nu huwt fwuffy?”
“You call me your daddy again and I might, yeah.”
“Pwease nu huwt fwuffy,” it whispered, burrowing into the towel.
“Then are you going to call me daddy again?”
“Nu. Fwuffy sowwy.” Another sad whisper.
“Good. Now come out from there and let me clean you…what the hell. Let’s get you SMELLING PRETTY again.”
The fluffy popped out from the towel, its face full of excitement. “Fwuffy am wan smeww pwetty! Pwease cwean fwuffy, hoomin!”
John was able to lower the fluffy into the water and, using a little bit of Dawn dish liquid, he was able to shampoo all the filth away. As he bathed it, he noted that the punctures the cat made were pretty superficial and were already starting to close up. He also noted that he had a female on his hands. As he lathered and rinsed, the fluffy cooed and burbled at him, giggling every time he touched her belly.
“Fwuffy am tickwish, hoomin! Bewwy am tickwish!”
“Sorry about that, little fluffy. I’ll try to remember that.”
“Am okay! Fwuffy nu mind!” More giggling and cooing.
As John dried the fluffy in a clean towel he marveled at how quickly the little thing had come to trust him completely. He figured it had to be in their programming - he knew they were programmed to know certain phrases, say certain things, feel certain ways. That quickness to trust and that desire to instantly be loved by anyone and anything they met, it was what made little kids beg their parents to get them a fluffy. Then another fluffy. Then another one.
Well, he didn’t want one. He couldn’t keep one, anyway. He already had a pet. She might let him get away with it, but probably not. Besides, he’d always sworn that he was only going to have one pet. A fluffy might be able to carry on a semi-coherent conversation, it might be mildly intelligent, but in the end it wouldn’t be anything but a pet. More money spent on food, litter, toys, upkeep, vet bills. Nope.
“Fank yu, hoomin. Fwuffy smeww pwetty nao. Hoomin is nice mistah. Fwuffy wike nice mistah.”
“Well thanks, little fluffy. Okay, look. It’s getting late. You’ve been through a lot, and I’m not going to make you go to the shelter today. You’ve had enough shock for one day.”
The fluffy cocked its head and widened its eyes. “Hoomin take fwuffy away? Nu keep fwuffy an give huggies an wuv?”
John sighed. “I can’t, kid. I’m sorry. I just can’t. But we’ll find you someone who will love you, okay?”
“Fwuffy am awone, nu haf famiwy. Nu wun wan fwuffy.”
“Oh come on, cut out that guilt shit. We’ll find you a new family. Until then we’ve got to get you fed and get you some water. Hey, I noticed you’ve got teeth, even though you keep saying you’re a baby.”
“Fwuffy am onwy widdwe babbeh!”
“Well, you’ve got teeth. Have you started eating things that aren’t milk?”
“Fwuffy am tu big fow miwkies! Fwuffy eat gwassies an uddah nummies!”
“That’s fine. So you’re NOT a baby. Let’s see what we can get you to eat, then.”
John carried her into the kitchen and set the towel-bundle down on the counter. He grabbed a small saucer and filled it with water, then set it in front of the half-burritoed filly. She started to drink without hesitation. John grabbed a small bowl and ran a little warm water in it, then opened the pantry to scoop some…oh, shit. He hadn’t been thinking.
John heard Sasha behind him. The fluffy heard her, too.
“NUUUUUUU! HOOMIN HAF KITTEH MUNSTAH! KITTEH MUNSTAH MAKE BABBEH HAF FOWEVAH-SWEEPIES!” It started struggling to burrow all the way into the towel, while Sasha looked back and forth between the screaming bundle of fluff and the scoop of delicious dry food.