Pistol, Sally, and their surviving thirteen foals stepped back from the hole in the floor where they had just lowered the body of the eighth foal to be born, losely wrapped in a discarded vintage newspaper sports section. It wasn’t much, but it was all they could find in the small ‘safe’ room they were now in.
Pistol stood stoically, straightening up to his full height of… slightly taller than most fluffies. “Widdwe gween babbeh di notink wong; babbeh tu widdwe, nu hab 'nuff time tu eben twy. Bu babbeh am fowebah sweepies 'cause ob Pistow.”
“Nu” Sally said, moving forward to brush alongside Pistol. She had taken a while to calm down, but after the third time Pistol slowly explained what had happened, she finally understood where the blame was more properly directed. “Angwy Daddeh gabe babbeh fowebah sweepies. Pistow nu 'posed tu no how cwazy hooman make dey tinkies.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” An unexpected voice came from behind them. The entire fluffy family spun about as fast as they could and five seconds later saw an old man in a crisp old Marine Corps dress uniform saluting their deceased foal. “No parent should ever bury their child, but it happens every day.” He said as he relaxed from attention. “Wish you had given me some warning, I had to dash back to get my old dress blues and nearly didn’t make it back in time.” He kneeled down and shook hands with Pistol’s front right leg. “Captain Kendall Evans, United States Marine Corps, retired of course.”
“Pistow am cawwed Pistow” was the only thing Pistol could think to say as Kendall kept shaking his hand, awaiting Pistol’s response.
Response now received, Kendall stood back up before commenting, “Pistol, Huh?” He caressed his expertly shaved chin in thought for a moment. “I like it, a no-nonsense name for a no-nonsense man. I like your style. Listen, I run the Acme tool & machining factory down the road. If you’re ever in need of work, stop by and I’ll get you sorted.”
Suddenly looking around, Kendall announced, “Well I’ve got to go and find out what my dear wife has gotten her self into, so I’ll be seeing you Pistol” He nodded towards Pistol, and then towards Sally, more quietly but still clearly murmuring “Mrs Pistol” and with a parade ground perfect about-face, he was gone.
“Oo wa dat?” Jave asked from behind.
“Pistow nu no, bu’ Pistow stawtin tu thinkie dat dewe mowe hoomans tu meetie hewe.” Pistol said as he waddled over to the food dish. To his dismay it was already half empty.
Throughout the house, the rooms darkened as the sun set, leaving only a handful lit electrically. A few hours later there was a commotion.
“Fluffin wuckies! THEY EAT SHIT but I wish they could die -HURK-” To say that Shane was in a bad way would be like calling the Titanic slightly damaged. Another spray of whiskey-based vomit coated the hallway, not that Shane noticed as he had gotten into his grandfather’s morphine again. None of this was aided by the meth he had just pounded as well, which given how much morphine he had just taken, was probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. Shane had no idea how he ended up with a kilo of crystal meth, he wouldn’t have been able to guess even if he was sober. As things stood now though, gun to his head he wouldn’t be able to remember his name, much less be able to find anyone who cared enough to ask.
While he didn’t know where he was headed, Shane certainly intended to tell someone something or something like that when he got there. As the case turned out, he ended up awakening the next day to find he had covered yet another unused bedroom in vomit. As was his standard policy by this point, he just closed and locked the door, intending never to enter that room again.
By noon, the fluffy kibble in the ‘safe’ room’s dish was gone, and again Pistol had gone without to let Sally have the last of it so as to keep feeding her foals. They were ten days old now, and nearing old enough to be weaned off of Sally’s milk, and both Pistol and Sally were carefully watching the foals for signs they might be ready for solid food, although neither had actually given thought to what such a sign might entail.
At the moment, Sally was resting while Pistol played the role of the big munsta for the foals to subdue, and try as he might, he always lost to his children’s combined ‘might’ or at least that’s what Sally had concluded. There was a loud crack as the floor split again, leaving a larger hole this time, easily big enough for any of the foals to go through, and approaching the size that a particularly svelte adult fluffy might reasonably be able to pass through. Indeed, Pistol was able to fit enough of his head into it to take a look around.
“Dewe am wight down dewe” He told the room at large. “Bu Pistow nu can see whewe wight comin’ fwom” He was ready to investigate further when the door to the ‘safe’ room banged open loudly.
In the doorway stood Shane carrying a fifty pound bag of discount kibble and nursing a hangover that could probably kill a bull elephant outright. “I haven’t forgotten about you shitrats” He said as he poured kibble into the dish, “Eat up” but then he lost his grip and the entire bag fell to the floor. He started to bend down to retrieve the bag, but decided better of it and just left the whole thing there, mumbling something about not justifying himself to vermin as he closed the door behind him.
From Pistol’s perspective, this was great- Shane hadn’t had any strange demands, and now there was many many days worth of food right there. He didn’t have to worry about the water as the fluffy-safe drip spigot never ran out, but that was to be expected of what was actually just a leaky old tap that Kendall had forgotten about and that Shane had never bothered fixing, as it was conveniently at a height where the foals could reach it if they sat on their haunches, but the adults only had to lean down a little to drink as well.
What Pistol had not noticed was the green filly who had disappeared while making her way to the litterbox. Her green tail could just be seen from the doorway, poking out from under the bag of kibble. It kept twitching for hours before going still.