The old fluffy sat in its cage, staring dimly at the center walls outside of the bars of the door. It watched as the last of the customers walked by the adoption cages as they sought a companion or pet for their child. No one bothered to do more than quickly glance at the ragged grey creature in this particular pen, seeking foals to raise or previously house trained fluffies. One of the scars on its side dully throbbed in pain; itching occasionally despite having closed long ago. The old fluffy couldn’t scratch at it since he had lost his back legs after the Fluffmart that first sold him had advertised him as a “huggy fluff”; a middle ground between the immobile and depressed pillowfluffs and the accident prone normal fluffies. Like most fluffy related fads he fell out of popularity quickly since being unable to keep up with regular fluffy play or drag himself to a litterbox in a timely manner wore out the patience of most owners quickly. Only his last owner kept him around for an extended period of time as he took pleasure in watching the poor creature scoot along the rough concrete of his cellar in a vain attempt at playing, and the failures to get to the litterbox in time for good poopsies were an easy excuse to break out his custom barbed sorry stick. He could only lay on the bare floor and huu huu softly to himself as his arthritic body prevented himself from bending around and licking at his itch.
The center was about to close for the day, a last round of pleading from the fluffies in the kennels surrounding the old fluffy cried out as the creatures begged to be taken home. “Pwease nu go nice wady! Stwawbewwy only wan huggies and wuv and housie and sketties and babbehs and safewoom and speshuw fwiend and toysies and sketty and fwuff teebee and tweats and nummies and …” shouted the fluffy above him. She was a pink domestic fluffy with a green mane that had arrived a week ago after her old owner left home for college. “Waaah why nu one wan mummah and babbehs?! Am pwettiest babbehs ebah! Babbehs am good babbehs and desewbe huggies and wub from nyu mummah.” The mulch colored unicorn in the cage next to him cried as she saw the shelter worker named Dave flip the outside sign over to CLOSED. An amateur breeder dropped the mare off a few weeks ago after attempting to use feral fluffies and last chancers from the local fluffmart to start a budget fluffymill out of his backyard. It didn’t take more than a few litters for him to realize that the profit from a few decent colored foals wouldn’t make up for the cost of the budget feedstock the mares required, even when he added filler that made it barely edible. The mare continued crying as her scrawny litter of dull yellow and green babies peeped and begged for milkies.
Dave started the end of day rounds on the cages to refill the kibble bowls and water bottles, marking off which cages were available for use by the latest fluffies that got dropped off. When he got to the old fluffy’s cage, he paused after reading the posting on the outside of his door. Tutting to himself after a quick glance at the decrepit fluffy he moved on to the crying mare without bothering to refill and clean the old fluffy’s cage. “Nice mistuh pwease gib nummies. Owd fwuffy supposed to get nyu nummies befowe dawkies.” Dave poured out a cup of kibble without bothering to look at the begging fluffy. “Sorry grandpa.” Said Dave, “I’ll swing by and pick you up once I’m done with this last row. You won’t be needing any more nummies where you’re going.”
No more nummies, thought the fluffy. But fwuffy need nummies or go fowever sweepies! “Pwease gib nummies nice mistah, owd fwuffy nu wan go fowebew sweepies befow get nyu mummah and daddeh!”
“Shut it shitrat, I’m not paid to tolerate your babble when the customers aren’t around” Dave said as he smacked the metal bars of the cage, eliciting a couple of scared huus from the fluffy. “Look on the bright side, not many fluffies can say they made it this far. Take some pride in that and stop annoying me” he said as he moved to finish the last few cages.
The old fluffy closed his eyes tightly and kept huuing to himself. He remembered what his last owner said as he drove him to the shelter: “Did you know Wormy, only good fluffies with a loving daddeh get to go to skettyland when they die. We’ll see if anyone brothers picking up a grey little lump like you from this dump.”
“Nuuu daddeh pwease nu weave Wormy. Am sowwy for being owd fwuffy, Wormy pwomise to pway and move wike good fwuffy. Pwease nu wet go fowebew sweepies without skettiwand.”
“No can do Wormy, I have better things to do with my time than watch you lay on the ground and complain about moving to the litterbox. I especially don’t have patience for bad fluffies that won’t even listen to a sorry stick anymore. I’ll look if they have any fresh litters this time, maybe I can raise them to be good fluffies.” he said as he parked and carried Wormy’s kennel out of the car.
Dave came back to Wormy’s cage and unlocked it. “Nice mistah gib nummies now?” said Wormy. “I said no!” Shouted Dave. He yanked Wormy out of his cage by the scruff, ignoring his cry of bad upsies. He pointed the fluffy at the sign on the door to his cage. “You see that shitrat”, he said as he gestured toward the “days remaining” counter. “When that counter is marked as zero, it means you’ve been here for a month already. If we can’t find anyone who’d want to take pity on you in that time then that means no one wants a grey sack of bones.” Wormy cried both from the pain of being picked up, and the knowledge that no one wanted to give him any love. “Pwease wet Wormy stay just a wittwe wongah nice mistah. Wowmy pwomise to twy extwa hawd to find nyu daddeh and mumm-SCREEE!” Wormy cried out as his nose was flicked. “It’s about to be summer dumbass, that means the city will be sending us a lot of ferals that got birthed over the spring. We don’t have the room to keep you on the off chance some bleeding heart hugboxer might walk in and take pity on a grey sack of shit like you when those new foals will sell like hotcakes to the parents looking to keep their crotch goblins busy over summer break. Just be glad the incinerator is quick, I’m sure if Charlie was on duty he’d make sure to have some last minute fun with you before chucking you in.”
Wormy began sobbing as Dave walked him into the back room “PWEASE NU BUWNY HUWTIES, WOWMY AM GUD OWD FWUFFY, ONWY WAN SEE SKETTIWAND”. Dave pinched his brow, he really wasn’t paid enough to listen to these creatures squeal. “Alright buddy I’ll make you a deal” Dave said as he set Wormy down on a side table. “If you can do what I say and prove you’re a good fluffy I’ll adopt you myself and be your new daddy so you can go to skettyland.” Wormy’s face lit up at the prospect of getting to live and getting a new daddy. “Yay suu happies, Wowmy nyu nice mistuh was nice. Wowmy do anyting daddeh want.” the fluffy babbled at Dave. “Glad to hear it shitrat” Dave mumbled, smiling to himself as he prepared to say his impossible demand. “If you don’t want to get burnies in that incinerator over there all you have to do is do a good dance like a good fluffy.” Wormy’s face immediately turned from elation into sorrow and panic. “D-du dancies? B-but fwuffy am owd fwuffy with onwy two weggies! Pwease nice mistah, nu make fwuffy du dancies!” Dave scowled at Wormy, causing him to recoil. He gestured at the operation warning sign on the machine: “See this Wormy? It says right here that any fluffy who can do good dancies will make the machine here have happies and not give burnies. Look, I don’t make the rules in this place and my shift is over soon. Just do good dancies or I have chuck you in here” Dave lied.
Wormy fought back tears as he sat up as best as he was able. “Huu-huu okay daddeh, if fwuffy hab to du dancies to be gud fwuffy, den fwuffy du bestest dancies ebeh” Wormy stated with as much confidence as he could muster. He began to slowly rock back and forth on his front legs, wincing from his arthritis and the old sorry stick scars that never healed right. Dave chucked to himself as he watched the pathetic display attempt at dancing. “Come on shitrat, is that really the best you can do?” He walked over to the incinerator and set the heat to low. A red glow began to eminate from the front as the jets of fire started up. “See, your dancing is making the burny machine very unhappy, it wants to give you hurties for bad dancies”. Wormy began to panic as he saw the light of the machine. “NUUUU, AM SOWWY FOR BAD DANCIES! WORMY TWY HAWDER FOR GOOD DANCIES!” The fluffy cried as he began to rock a little faster. The stiffened joints protested against him, causing sharp pains in his shoulders that made him cry even more. “Pwease weggies, nu gib Wowmy hurties. Just wan du gud dancies for nyu daddeh.” Wormy pleaded with his body, but the hurties didn’t stop. Dave upped the intensity of the incinerator “Better improve quickly, the burny machine is getting impatient” he shouted at Wormy.
“HUUUUHUUUU WHY WEGGIES GIB WORSTEST HURTIES! NU WAN GO FOWEBEW SWEEPIES!” Wormy cried out as he painfully turned himself over onto his side, wincing as the metal table hurt his shoulders. Wiggling as best as he could Wormy flipped himself onto his back and began slowly flailing his front legs in the air “Pwease wike dancies buwny machine! Wormy twy hawdest tu be gud fwuffy!” He begged raspily as he tried wiggling on his back in desperation.
Dave set the machine to its full operating heat. Well that’s too bad little guy, I guess the burny machine over here just doesn’t like your dancies much. Wormy began sobbing as he watched Dave open the chute. Dave roughly pulled the fluffy up and took him over to the front of the chute, giving Wormy a clear view of the inferno he was about to be dropped in. The heat surrounded his small body and caused some of the fluff on his tail to crisp and curl up. “WORMY AM SOWWY BUWNY MACHINE, ONLY WAN HUGGIES FROM NYU DADDEH, PWEASE NU BUWNIES PWEASE!” Having had enough fun with the fluffy, Dave unceremoniously dropped Wormy in and shut the chute. A loud SCREEEEEEEEEE could be heard briefly as the fire quickly ignited the gray fluff and melted Wormy’s flesh. Thankfully the fluffy grade incinerator was one of the few products the shelter hadn’t cheaped out on, turning Wormy to a pile of smelly ash in just a few seconds.
After unceremoniously dumping the contents in a bin, Dave clocked out and made his way home, watching as the alley fluffs that would no doubt soon be sent to his center began to scavenge for nummies under the streetlamp lights as the pedestrians of the city all went home for the night.