In the morning, you get up, get dressed, and head into the kitchen, already knowing what you’re going to find and dreading it. You pull apart the wash cloth, still warm from the hand warmer you slid under it, and pick up the tiny, dark blue-purple foal.
Still warm, but that might just from the hand warmer you put it to keep it comfortable. You check to see if it’s breathing… wow.
Little guy is more resilient than you though. You frown for a moment, then check. Yep, it’s a guy. You put him back in the bowl, wrap him back up to keep him from getting cold, and mix up some fresh fluffy formula. Then you part the wash cloth again, prop him up inside the bowl, and start squirting warm formula into his mouth and coaxing him to swallow. After the first couple times, he starts swallowing on his own again, then starts to actually suckle on the syringe. You keep feeding him until his tiny belly bulges and he feebly spits the tip of the syringe out of his mouth, then tuck him back in.
It’s a Saturday, so your girlfriend doesn’t have to be at work today. You call her up and ask her to come over. Once she arrives, you show her the unicorn foal in your kitchen.
“Wow, who’s this cute little guy? It is a boy, right?”
“Yep.”
“Where’d you find him?”
You feel a pang of regret, then shake your head and set it aside.
“Lone survivor. His family broke into this lady’s yard and started destroying it and her garden. This little guy survived, and I couldn’t just toss him to burn, so… I didn’t expect him to make it to morning though.”
She smiles and draws you into a hug, telling you, “That’s what I like about you. You’re an exterminator, you’re good at your job, but you’re not a jerk about it like some people these days. You still have a heart.”
You shrug; it might get you laid with your girlfriend and earn “d’aaawwws” from other girls you meet, but it still makes you feel like some kind of soft-hearted wimp. You never had ethical issues blowing away Bambi every hunting season and eating his tasty, tasty body parts.
“So what are you gonna name him?”
“I dunno, I haven’t thought about it. Like I said, I didn’t expect him to survive the night.”
The little foal wriggles in the bowl, the first real sign of life you’ve seen in him since you doused him in pepper spray and then tried to drown him in a bucket. Then he gives a single, weak cheep. Your girlfriend makes cooing noises and picks him up, wash cloth and all, and starts cuddling him.
“I’m gonna feed Sunshine her breakfast. You eaten yet?”
“Yeah, I finished just before you called.”
You open the door to the safe room, and quietly call Sunshine by name, not wanting to startle her. She perks her head up from the large, soft pillow she uses for a bed and has a momentary panic attack, then sees it’s you and waddles over to greet you. Someone should do a study on PTSD in fluffies, you think, but they’d probably carry out the study by tormenting and traumatizing the poor technicolor bastards, so maybe it’s for the best that noone’s bothered. You hug the scarred bundle of fuzz, turn the overhead light on to check to make sure she didn’t have any accidents during the night (she often had scary dreams, mostly flashbacks to the abuse her previous owner put her through, but she’s had fewer and fewer accidents since you gave her a nightlight), then inform her that breakfast is impending. She gets excited at the thought of nummies, but is still leery that you’re only teasing her and she won’t get any food. You wonder if she’ll ever get over that.
You quickly prove you weren’t lying by filling her bowl with fluffy chow, which she immediately wolfs down out of fear that you’ll take it away again. You glance up and see your girlfriend standing in the doorway to the safe room, smiling and holding a little bundle that twitches as you watch it.
“Somebody’s a lot more lively now! You gonna introduce them?”
“Sure, I guess we might as well do it now. Sunshine, we have a surprise for you!”
Your fluffy winces, wanting to believe you’re giving her a treat, but anticipating more abuse; her scars aren’t just on her body.
Squatting down to your fluffy’s level, you gesture for her to come sit next to you, then your girlfriend sits on the floor and places the small bundle of cloth between you. Sunshine eyes it suspiciously, then jumps (all of two inches) when it moves. She’s a good fluffy though, and manages not to make scaredy poopies. She hides behind you, peeking around to see what it is as your girlfriend unfolds the wash cloth to reveal the foal. It opens its eyes, a brilliant sapphire color, for the first time in its life, blinking in the light, and then chirps. Sunshine raises her head and stares at the little pegasus foal, fascinated. He blinks and looks around the room, raising himself unsteadily on his front legs, and chirps again, plaintively. Sunshine hesitantly comes out from behind you and continues to stare.
“Cheep!”
Finally, Sunshine looks up at you and Rachel, confused.
“Da babbeh?”
“That’s right, sweetie. That’s a baby.”
She looks it, her little forehead wrinkling in confusion. She tentatively creeps closer to the little foal and sniffs it, then jumps and backpedals when it chirps again. She looks at you again.
“So, what do you think, Sunshine? Do you like him?”
She turns her gaze back to the foal.
“Keep babbeh?”
“That’s right, we’re going to keep him. Nobody is going to take him away; he lives here now.”
Sunshine ponders this for a moment, initially distrusting. Then she remembers that you’ve been nothing but kind to her and gives you the benefit of the doubt; you’re not mean like her previous owner.
“Ish good babbeh?”
“Yes, he’s a very good baby. And you’re a very good fluffy too.”
She walks up to the struggling foal, who is now standing on all four trembling feet, examines it, then states very matter-of-factly that this is a good baby. Then she gives you a worried look.
“Sunshine nu haf babbeh befo. Nu know whu do wi babbeh.”
“It’s ok, we’ll help you take care of him. You can help us make sure he grows up big and strong.”
“Yesh, good babbeh, tweat nice. Nu beh meanies tuh babbeh.”
Then Sunshine carefully picks the little foal up and carries it, chirping in protest the whole way, to her pillow bed. For the first time ever, she cuddles up with another fluffy. The cheeping foal stops struggling and snuggles up to her warm, fluffy body.
“What do you want to name him, Sunshine?”
“Shunshine nam babbeh?” Your fluffy is awestruck by the concept.
“Sure.”
She looks down at the little goal, wriggling deeper into her fluff, and considers.
“Babbeh ish dawk, wike nigh-nigh time. Buh nu ish dawk wike scawy nigh-nigh time, ish dawk wike wiff nigh-wight. Ish good babbeh.”
She wracks her feeble brain for a full minute, until you’re concerned that she might be having a mental blue screen, but then she looks back at you and smiles.
“Babbeh ish nammed Midnigh!”
“Midnight? That’s a good name.”
She beams at the praise.
“Shunshine giff babbeh gooh nam?”
“Yes, Midnight is a very good name.”
“Shunshine wub babbeh. Wiww hewp take cawe uh babbeh. Ish good babbeh, nee hugsies an wuv.” She hesitates for a moment, then makes the uncertain pronouncement, “Shunshine ish good fwuffy?”
“Yes, Sunshine is a very good fluffy.”
She happily snuggles up with the little foal and closes her eyes. It’s a little early for nap time, but whatever. You and your girlfriend get up and leave the safe room, shutting the door behind you.
“That went well,” she tells you. “I think that little guy is gonna be good for her.”
“Yeah,” you reply. “I think he is. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t toss him in with the rest.”
She leans in and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
“I know you don’t really like your job, and I know you have doubts about yourself sometimes, but you’re a really good person. You know that?”
You shrug and kiss her back, and she takes you by the hand and leads you toward the bedroom.
Monday, you’ll have to go back to your terrible job of murdering innocent, naive creatures who just want a safe, happy life, but are hated and reviled as much as they’re loved because of their status as invasive pests. But that’s Monday. For now, things are pretty ok.
for Midnight, a survivor has will to live 