The Truth Behind Fluffy Garden Invasions
“How in God’s name do these god forsaken fucking diseased SHITRATS!!! end up in my damn garden?!”
The yelling could be heard for miles.
Most people in the street (except Jeff who was deaf) had heard Old Man McNally’s screams many times.
Heads turned to the yelling and a tut could be made or an exaggerated gasp for relief. Mrs Sanchez would bring her kids indoors, they didn’t like the sound. Or the man, from whom it was coming from.
Most everyone just got on with it, it was part and parcel of the neighbourhood hearing the yelling.
You’d never guess either, it was a pretty otherwise nice and normal street if it wasn’t for the constant yelling from one awful man.
Mr McNally
People here had grown up in the street and lived here for years and everyone who had lived here had experienced “the hairdryer treatment” from the Old Bastard.
You could tell a new resident or even a visitor from an old one just from their reaction to the screaming.
Old heads had given up reacting.The Guy would never change and most people were counting down to when he died. Or was forcibly evicted. Whichever came first.
He hated everything.
Literally, nothing made him happy.
Nothing he did and nothing anyone ever did or did not brought him any happiness.
But most of all he hated fluffies.
He always referred to them as shitrats, never as anything else.
Kids with fluffies or anyone with a fluffy just kept well away.
He’d killed a few fluffies whenever they even went near his gate.
He infamously killed Zack Dumas’ alicorn.
And all Zack (good kid, going places) did was walk the fluffy down the street and made the “mistake” of walking by Old Man McNally’s fence while he was mowing the lawn.
He yanked the lead from Zack’s hands and choked the alicorn in front of Zack.
The alicorn’s eyes popped out of its fucking head, he strangled it that badly.
Zack’s dad was super-pissed off about it. He confronted the Old Bastard and the Old Bastard just gave him the hairdryer treatment like he did anyone crossing his path.
He was shouting out that he was religious and that shitrats were an abomination and that his kid Zack should be ashamed of himself over it.
Zack’s dad just walked it off. He could feel his ears ringing. How had the old guy not had a heart attack or a stroke?
Religious his ass, he hadn’t ever saw him in church and he chased off those charity collectors and Mormons who had been knocking.
No one exactly knew why he hated fluffies.
To be honest neither do I.
I understand you can hate these things because of the damage and disease and how annoying they are.
But killing them in front of kids? And as brutally as he did to that alicorn?
His garden was always being tended to but it looked a crappy job being done and it didn’t exactly win him awards or glances.
Now, Mrs Martinez, she had a garden that was beautiful, that would be worth screaming about.
I’ve done work on it and honestly I always want to do any job for her. Old Man McNally had shrubs, bushes and grass. He hated flowers as much as he hated weeds. And fluffies. Not one grew there.
Maybe the lawn was tidily mowed but that’s it. Nothing worth losing your shit over.
Though a few fluffies did lose their shit there
I do repair work and handyman jobs working for the housing association. I get called in whenever work needs to be done maintaining tenants’ houses and then billing the estate agent for it.
I like the work that I do, I’m no shirt and tie man behind a desk and screen, but my god I hate that guy.
To the point I’d even consider being a desk jockey to avoid the guy!
And I see him often.
Over every little fucking thing.
Seriously.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
He looks for problems.
And he always finds one, no matter how minute.
Today I got called over to have a look at his garden. Fluffies had been in and out, a heist job done on his lawn.
They ate the chud and left shit all over.
I thought it was a worthy pay off considering the factors
Now normally fluffies tend to stay wherever they eat, especially in gardens, because they expect more food and to be given food and taken care of and have a place to stay and to be loved.
So it was pretty unusual that they were no longer in the garden.
Fluffies, after all, will stay wherever there is an abundance of food and comfort and when there’s none they hope for more to come for a long time before they move on.
These things are eternal optimists. But a simple fuck off and they get sad and move on.
As if they were let out of the garden and taken some place else
Fluffies ultimately want to be wanted by us and loved by us and cherished by us etc etc
I’m not sure the reasons, but in some cases (most that I’ve come across) they’re as welcome as shit stuck on your shoe. Especially ferals.
Speaking of shit, I had to clean up the fluffy shit and do some “maintenance” work on the old bastard’s garden.
He began yelling about some shit about being in the army and paying attention and shitrats and shitrats and fucking up his lawn and being in the navy and rambling and rambling on aggressively.
He told me that fluffies had gotten in, eaten his lawn, left behind faecal matter, and left.
He saw it all happen from the inside of his house while he was out of the house shopping.
The guy is full of shit, but here he is. As loud as the day is bright.
I pretty much knew he didn’t like me but I couldn’t care less.
At least he probably hated fluffies more than me.
In fact, I’d be far more concerned if he actually liked me and was nice to me.
He went back into the house saying that he wasn’t paying for shit which I knew already (and had done so on countless occasions) because he wasn’t my boss and the estate agents were paying me (who were being paid by Mr McNally, funny how that works).
I started my work and put all the crap in a bag and shovelled it in.
Thank god for the mask. Did you know that being around and breathing in fluffy shit is bad for your health? No wonder they don’t last long. I then did my “checks” of the fencing.
Anyways, I’ve got a confession for you.
An earth-shattering industry confession to make.
I will not tell you my name as every other trade guy would deny it and they would deny ever doing it.
Have you ever wondered how fluffies, a being so weak and so ubiquitous (now that’s an education on show), somehow end up in people’s gardens like common rats and pests?
Despite being weak and their muscles being weak and their bones etc etc
We deliberately leave a hole, or a very loose panel at the very least, that even the fattest fluffy can push to get in.
Yes. It’s kind of our fault how you are so many garden invasions.
Actually no, scratch that. It kind of IS our fault. Well, except when you leave the gate open and-
Hey, I got kids to feed. Well, child support but you know what I mean…
This kind of thing keeps us in a job. I don’t know what the word is but it’s planned and deliberate crappiness that-
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY FENCE YOUNG MAN!!!”
shit it’s the old bastard, why is he holding a hammer?
“Look….Mr McNally…… I’m fixing it. How else would the fluffies get in?”
he looked at me and huffed
“Look, you’re not paying extra for it”
“GOOD!! I’ve served my time in the airforce and I’ve paid my taxes……why should I? A decorated veteran of 4 wars, have to pay EXTRA!!! to repair donating that that shitrat PLAGUE have caused me?!”
“I agree sir, I’ll get right on it and your fence will be fixed in no-time. No more fluffies coming-“
“YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANY EXTRA DIMES FROM ME!!!”
“Yes sir, leave it to me”
what a piece of shit
He then went back into his house screaming and swinging the hammer at random.
Maybe he was just an angry little man who had no let out for his clearly latent aggression.
No wonder he wasn’t married. Fuck, imagine being married to that?!
I seen him in the window screaming at an invisible man and swinging his hammer.
did he have a boner? Looking at that anger the guy clearly has MurderBoner disease or something……
(Remember that Zack kid I was telling you about? I’m not going to lie to you, fluffies are pretty dumb and garden invasions are uncommon. They’re horses right? You have to lead them to water to make them drink. Fluffies don’t exactly find shit on their own less they are desperate. Then they have to use their noses. They’re really lazy things. Did you know that kid Zack seen a bunch of fluffies on the corner and led them to Mr Shithead’s garden? He also let them out. He thought he’d pay that old bastard back with a lot of shit. Don’t ask me how I know this….)
I finished the “repairs” and went out onto the street.
I’d done my job, I’d let him figure out it was finished.
He was still screaming but not as often. Was he tiring out? Man how do these people put up with the guy?
Good. Maybe he was going to settle down for the day. Give these people peace. Maybe I’d have a fat doink back home-
“Daddeh!! Daddeh!! Mistah Daddeh!! Du Daddeh hab nummies fo hewd?”
holy shit, they’re back. That Bastard’s constant screaming must be making me go death…A smarty….so that’s how they could remember to come back……did they really remember here? Or where they drawn by the screaming? Who’d be dumb enough to come near here? Who cares…they’ve been hanging around the street and in the bushes and on corners. They’ve been shunned by everyone. Quite a few of them. 3 adults, more kids and a fat one that looks ready to be a dam and make more shitrats……damn, why did anyone think making a toy that breeds was a good idea?
“Uhhh……sure……you see this fence?”
The smarty nodded and uh huhhed (he was actually quite cute for one of those snarky shitrats….politer than I thought too. But then again, the really rude ones seem to be rare. Or end up dead. Whatever)
“Well……give it a little push. And then you all go inside….there’s a lot of nice nummies here!”
“Wow tank oo su much mista!! Wiww oo be Daddeh fo hewd?”
The herd, well the adults, looked up at me and their eyes widened with excitement. They were so eager. The non-fat mare even held up one of its foals, which began to chirp and coo at me and raise its legs towards me for hugs.
“Nope. Not at all. I’m a busy man.”
Their heads went down with sadness. The foals began to prod their mother and ask if Daddeh had nummies for milkies. And would Daddeh take them too.I guess they’re kind of oblivious to everything excelt their wants…until they become curious about everything. But foals are killed by their curiosity if they’re not careful…and they’re more curious than cats so….
“But in this here garden, there’s a Daddeh who’ll love you all so much and give you the bestest nummies and Huggies and all the love you could want!”
“Weawwy mistah?!” “Weawwy?!” “Weawwy?!” “Wub mistah Wub nyu daddeh”
The herd began to make excited sounds. Even the foals chirped with delight. This was the best news ever!
I probably shouldn’t have done this. I knew they’d be disappointed but hope springs eternal right?
“Go right in and see”
The smarty pushed on the loose fence and pushed through and walked through into the garden and as fluffy see, fluffy do, the herd and the foals followed through into the garden.
Except one.
She was a little too slow.
She was a wingie Babbeh too. Aren’t they meant to be quick?
She tried pushing and pushing but the fence wouldn’t let up. Foals are only strong enough to move their weight, they’re too weak for much everything else. And even more brittle than fully grown fluffies. She began to wail for her mummeh.
They mustn’t have heard her, I looked over and the herd began to chew away at the grass they hadn’t ate and had previously fouled on. Her mummeh, whoever that was, was too busy eating the grass to notice one of her kids was missing.
They’re not exactly picky. Or all that smart. If it’s even got a little bit of dirt (or shit) on it, well it’s still good to them. They’re always hungry.
“Wan mummeh……wan mummeh….huuuuuuuu chirp.”
I picked her up and she let out a yelp and a wail and begged not to be hurt.
“chirp chirp waaahhhhhh!!! Am onwy wittew babbeh!!”
Her front leg looked slightly crooked. These things can barely walk quickly on the stumps they have, even in perfect condition. If even one is messed up, well it may as well be a snail.
No wonder she was slower than Pegasi types normally are. They’re the quickest moving (and most careless) of all fluffies.
She looked young, really young. She still chirped but she was at the stage of talkie babbeh. She had no teeth. So she wasn’t yet weaned and still on fluffy milk. The telltale lack of lumps indicated she was definitely female. That’s how I knew.
She was pretty lilac colour and her fur was as soft as you’d expect foals to be. Foal fur is softer than kitten fur. It’s designed to make you want to cuddle them more. They’re very soft at this stage.
Except for her front leg, she’d have been a pretty perfect toy for anyone.
“Would you like me to be your Daddeh instead?”
I’m sorry but…I couldn’t help it. I’m not going to lie, I don’t really hate these things and I just let people do what they want with these things. I’m a sucker for the cute ones. Hell, I bought my kids one but really just wanted it for me! Why let the ferals into the garden if I love them so much? Just to simply to fuck with the old bastard. if he wanted to hurt them, then that’s on him. I’m neutralbox babbeh, I’m not going out of my way to harm them
Her eyes lit up and the tears stopped. They no longer look scared or frightened or sad. They shined with glee and her mouth was open and formed a delighted smile.
They always look really surprised and then elated whenever you say you’ll be their Daddeh. It’s the same with all fluffies, and they all act in the same way.
“Weawwy? Mistah be nyu daddeh?!”
I nodded warmly. “That’s right”
The foal began to clap her front legs softly and she smiled so happily and let out a chirp.
I think my friend Mikey might have some stuff left from when he looked after fluffies.
That guy was too clumsy to own one. No wonder they didn’t last long with that guy. Don’t even ask me what happened to the fluffy he bought his girl…
I began to walk away to the van I had parked up away from the drive. The foal turned her head to sudden squealing.
And then many squeals. And thuds. And squelching sounds
She squirted shit out of her ass and let out a frightened squeal and chirping. She was shaking and quivering and in tears. In fairness, the shouting would scare most everyone…
“I-I-I-is……dat……munstahs……Daddeh?! Scawee…”
“Yes it is sweetie…but don’t you worry, your new Daddeh will keep you safe and keep that meanie old fuck of a monster away from you…….I’ll get you cleaned up at home. I think my pal Mikey has some milkies for you.”
“T-t-tank oo d-d-Daddeh”
I walked to my van and dropped a text to Mikey. He got back to me instantly, and said that he did and to come over later to pick his spare stuff up. Good guy that guy. I’m glad he kept the stuff, even said he’d put me in touch with a guy who’d help me raise my new foal right. Even look at that leg of hers.
I placed the foal in an old and dirty flannel shirt that I had kept handy in the van. I made it into a kind of bed that was secure enough not to slip from the seat. She cuddled into the shirt and let out a coo and a chirp. She looked very comfy like that.
I called the foal Heather, and she loved her new name, and she was going to love her new home and her new Daddeh.
She forgot all about the now-late herd.
They have such short memory.
I suppose that’ll be a job for tomorrow. No doubt that old bastard is going to complain.
But I get paid so…and it’s not like I won’t do the same “checks” tomorrow.
Very likely there’ll be no more invasions for a while.
Well. Maybe. I don’t know exactly.
I’m off the clock now. Time for home, I’ll keep ear plugs with me just in case I get asked to go around again.
