Part Four
[It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so here’s the next part.]
Mint looked around the saferoom, surprised by how nice it was. After her experience in the mill and her brief feral life, she’d unconsciously adopted the belief that no place could be as nice as her old home. However, in her old saferoom she’d never had this many toys, or a bed this soft, or a nightlight for when the dark-times came. It was like a paradise.
Of course, the bath that she received before being let into the saferoom had dampened her spirits as well as her fluff, but seeing the toys laid out she could almost forget how much she’d hated the bath. Maybe the nice mister who’d found her would be even nicer than her old daddeh! Already she was imagining teaching her babbehs how to play with all the toys.
“Mint, you know the rules for living in a house?”
“Gud poopies an’ peepees gu in wittewbox, an’ onwy bad fwuffies maek bad poopies an’ peepees. Nu maek woud noisies in dawk-times. Nu say meanie wowds or yeww at daddeh.”
“Good, good. Now, what happens if you misbehave?”
“Bad fwuffies hab sowwy-box ow sowwy-stick ow nu nummies. Wowstest fwuffies nu can wive in housies.”
“Good. Now, I know you’re a runaway, but I want you to know that if you want to leave you can just ask.”
“NU! Mint nu wan weave housies ebah 'gain! Nu wike outside, nu wike munstahs ow cowd ow tummeh-huwties!”
“Okay, okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Now, since you’ve had a bath, how about we get you fed? I’m sure you’re hungry and tired after all you’ve been through. How about some spaghetti before bed?”
“SKETTIES! Mint wub sketties!”
The nice mister smiled. “Alright, I’ll get you some now. You know the rules about spaghetti day?”
“Wut am sketties day?”
“Every seven bright-times you get spaghetti, but if you’re a bad fluffy you don’t get them. If you’re a very good fluffy and mummah you can have some on other days, too.”
Sketties, every few bright-times? Her old daddeh had said she could only have sketties on special days. He said it was bad for fluffies and she shouldn’t have too much, which was silly. Everyone knew that sketties were the best nummies a fluffy could eat!
“Mint wiww be gud fwuffy, Mint pwomise! Tank 'ou, nice mistah!”
“You can call me daddeh, Mint.”
“Tank 'ou, daddeh! Mint wub 'ou!”
…
Mint’s new life seemed like heaven, compared to life in the mill or on the streets. Even her memories of her old home, which had seemed like such a wonderful place, began to tarnish. She had toys to play with, good nummies, and a nice nest to sleep in. Her new daddeh wasn’t even mad that she had tummeh-babbehs! Dummeh old daddeh!
She awoke suddenly one night, feeling something was wrong. Her tummeh-babbehs were coming, but it was too soon! She cried out in pain and fear, alerting her daddeh, who rushed into the saferoom.
"Daddeh! Babbehs am comin’!
“Isn’t it too soon?”
“Babbehs NAO”
Mint felt the babbehs leaving her one by one, but there were no chirps. No! Not again! She struggled to turn, still mostly immobile, but her daddeh’s hand on her back kept her from moving. This couldn’t be happening again! Not with Maple’s only babbehs!
“Hold still, I’ll clean them off. Just focus.”
“Am babbehs otay?”
“They’ll be fine.”
Mint pushed out the last babbeh, then began to turn, still worried over the lack of chirps from her babbehs. The hand on her back lifted, and she turned in time to see her daddeh carrying a towel out of the saferoom. Looking around in the nest, she couldn’t find her babbehs. Her babbehs were missing!
“Daddeh! Wewe am babbehs? DADDEH!” but her words got no reply.
Her daddeh’s assurance seemed empty now. It had happened again! Her babbehs had gone forever-sleepies again! Why? Why couldn’t anything go right? Why did she have to suffer so much?
Bursting into tears, she crawled away from the now-dirtied nest and curled up in one of the corners of the saferoom. Sobbing, she lay there, too grief-stricken to think. Eventually, her sobs turned into hiccups, then into silence, and she began to doze.
Mint am sowwy, Mapwe. 'Ou onwy babbehs gu forebah-sweepies…
…
She awoke to soft chirping noises, and she rose to her feet as quickly as her still-weakened body could. Looking around, she didn’t see her babbehs, the events of the pervious night rushed back into her mind, and the tears began to blur her vision once more. The chirping was just a bird outside, as if nature itself was mocking her pain.
“Hey, Mint!” her daddeh greeted her walking into the room, looking tired but cheerful, oblivious to her suffering. “How are you?”
“MINT BABBEHS AM GU FOREBAH-SWEEPIES! MINT HAB WOWSEST HEART-HUWTIES! MINT WAN DIE!” she wailed.
“Mint, your foals are fine.”
She paused, taken aback. “Bu’ babbehs nu chiwp! Nu maek noisies!”
“Okay, maybe ‘fine’ was an exaggeration. But they’re alive, and they should be fine soon.”
“Babbehs nu gu forebah-sweepies?”
“No, they were just very weak, too weak to chirp. Let me show you.”
Her daddeh picked her up and carried her to another room, where a large box sat on the floor, connected by a cable to an outlet in the wall. The sides of the box were smooth metal, but the top was clear, and inside she could see her babbehs lying in a small nest. She began to flail her legs, crying out to see her babbehs.
“Mint, stop.”
“Wai am babbehs in sowwy-box? Babbehs am gud babbehs!”
“It’s not a sorry-box. It’s an incubator.”
“Wut am in-qu-bay-tow?”
“It’s like a safebox for when babbehs are born very small and sick. They need to stay in the safebox for a while until they grow bigger. If they come out now they might go forever-sleepies, and you don’t want that.”
“Nu! Mint nu wan babbeh gu forebah-sweepies! Bu’ Mint wan see babbehs, babbehs nee’ mummah for huggies and wub and miwkies!”
“I’m sorry, but for now they have to stay in there. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give them the best milkies ever, and they’ll be nice and warm in the safebox.”
Suddenly, a chirp came from the box, and her daddeh set her down and pulled a bottle from a drawer. “I need to feed them, now. Can you go back to the saferoom on your own?”
“Mint wan stay wif babbehs!”
“After I’m done feeding them I’ll move the safebox into your saferoom so you can hear them and sing to them. How about that?”
“Otay. Mint wan see babbehs and gib huggies and wub, but dat am otay, tuu. Nu wan babbehs gu forebah-sweepies.”
“Good. Now, go back to the saferoom.”
Mint returned to her saferoom, her heart soaring. Her babbehs weren’t dead after all! She was a little sad that she couldn’t hold them, but still, they were alive! After last night, just that was more precious than anything she’d dared hope for.
“Okay,” her daddeh said, carrying the safebox into the room. “Listen, you see the black noodle thing sticking out of the safebox?”
“Mint see.”
“Good. Now, you should NEVER touch it. If it gets moved too much the safebox might stop working, and that would mean your babbehs could go forever-sleepies. So DON’T TOUCH IT!”
Mint regarded the cable with a mix of curiosity and horror. “Mint nu gu neaw noodwe,” she swore, meaning it. She wouldn’t do ANYTHING that could risk hurting her babbehs.
“That’s good. Sorry to scare you, but I want to make sure the babbehs are safe. Now, I’m sure they’ve missed you, so how about you sing to them? They’d like that.”
“Otay, daddeh! Mint wub ‘ou an’ babbehs! Tank ‘ou fow sabin’ babbehs!”
“You’re welcome, Mint.”
…
Rob walked out of the saferoom as Mint began to sing mummah-songs in the normal tone-deaf way fluffies sang. Everything was going great, and he hadn’t even had to most of the work he was planning on. Mint was perfect, better than he’d dared hope for from a stray. Thank God he’d bought the second-hand incubator before-hand, though. Otherwise, it could’ve gotten complicated.
Part Five and a Half
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