Unambiguously and directly inspired by this terrific @Pastry_Knight piece.
A pale green stallion with neon purple mane schlepped his way through the suburbs of Johnson County, Kansas. It was Autumn, and the leaves were just starting to turn. “Haf. Haf. Wotsa nummie findin fow fwuffy daddeh dis bwite tiem. Haf. Haf. Nummies twees wook aww pwetty, dat meen gunna be cowd soon.” He was right, of course. His daily patrols were becoming more and more scarce of resources, and therefore more and more time consuming and tedious. He was also spending more time in plain view of houses, which (for a fluffy) brought with it the recurring temptation to ask a nearby human for help. The fluffy knew, as a lifelong feral, that doing so would bring with it a greatly increased risk of death, dismemberment, or worse: Adoption.
Yes, the Fluffy Daddy had heard tell of stories. Fluffies would be prowling the streets in search of food only to be seized upon by humans and taken as pets. What is normally a joyous occasion for a fluffy can be heartbreaking, though, as a fluffy with a family depending on him being adopted leaves a special friend and countless babies to starve. Many of these fluffies eventually escape, though almost never in time to regain their old lives. Some will bemoan their lack of speed as the reason their family must have left, declaring themselves “swow dummehs” who “nu desewbe hewd.” Others get mad at the fluffies who abandoned them, cursing their special friends for taking their babies. But most simply blame the humans, these incomprehensible huge beings who hold an almost supernatural sway over the tiny artificial mammals.
One such fluffy putter his way down an alleyway past the Fluffy Daddy, this sad misbegotten wretch is a graying brown unicorn stallion with black mane. He’s saggy, but clearly lost weight. Loose skin hangs below him, a common trait among runaway domestics from homes which at the VERY least weren’t underfeeding the fluffy. He trundles along, mostly looking downward, kicking at small bits of debris in his path as he mutters to himself. As he nears Fluffy Daddy, he can be heard.
“Huuuuuuuu meanie hoomin taek fwuffy fow tuu wong, nao fwuffy hab nu hewd nu mowe… Howe fambwy am gone nao! Nu get tu snuggwe an cuddwe wif speshaw fwen nu mowe, goobai pwettyest mawe ebba see! Huhuhuhuuuu… Goobai aww babbehs, fwuffy awways memba yoo pwetty wittwe cheekies an pweshus wittwe cuddwy fwuffy huggies an snuggies…” The depressed fluffy sniffed in deeply as his nose ran. “Twy teww hoomins! Teww dem ‘Aweddy hab fambwy, pwease nu taek fwuffy!’ Hoomins fink fwuffy pwayin gamesies! Fink fwuffy twyin maek haha jokies! Teww fwuffy ‘Tee hee ou bewy gud widdwe fwuffy, wittwe mummah wiww wub ou fowebba an ebba!’ Den nu wet…nu wet weeb! Onwy wan gu HOME! Nu WAN hoomin fambwy-hee-hee-hee-heeeeeeeeeeee… Haf…haf…HUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”
The poor beleaguered fluff collapsed on his front weggies sobbing. Fluffy Daddy shuddered. He had lives depending on him. His beautiful Special Friend, Fluffy Mummah, was a neon green fluffy with puke green mane and two little wingies. Their babbehs, cleverly named Wed Cowt, Bwoo Fiwwy, Gween Cowt, and Poopie Babbeh, depended on Mummah Miwkies, which depended on Fluffy Daddy bringing home nummies. He couldn’t be a pet, he thought to himself as he wandered home with his back laden in nummies.
But he could have pets.
As he returned to the burrow where his family nested, he could hear the sounds of his children frolicking and his special friend cheering them on. He could also hear the familiar cries of their toys.
“Nu! Pwease nu huwt! Nu wan pway wuff gamesie nu mowe! Babbeh fwens am tuu meanie! Wet gu!” The foals were giggling, lightly batting around a microfluffy with their hoofsies. The micro was only a bit smaller than Poopie, the smallest sibling. The largest was about half again the size of the poor exasperated micro. He had a particularly gleeful look in his eye as he kicked at the tiny quivering creature. “Haw haw! Wittwe babbeh habtu get pass big babbeh fow wan gu way! Twy wesswe! Gwappwe wiff babbeh!” With this he lodged his head into the shoulder of the small micro, pushing it immediately back onto its haunches. It was terrified. It had to survive for its family. Had to survive for its herd. Had to survive for-
The big babbeh, having grown bored with pretending to struggle against the comparatively feeble micro, had kicked his back legs in such a way that he lurched forward a few inches, folding the micro backwards. This had the added effect of hyperextending both the micros back legs, causing it to cry out briefly before the pain forced it unconscious. The Biggest Babbeh trampled it, causing superficial damage to skin and fluff as he went. “Dummeh micwo bwoke, nu wike.” He grabbed the tail of the misbegotten creature in his mouth and started dragging it back to the nest. After a couple of the joints in his tail popped, the micro stirred awake. “Huh…wha? Ow…whewe guin? Owwies! Taiw huwties! Stahp, pwease! Nu posed tu puww by taiw! Nu gud fow fwuffy!” The babbeh dropped the tail and turned around. “Shaddup, nu tawkie tu babbeh nu mowe. Dummeh toysie bwoken, nee gu back tu nestie. Wiww pway wiff udda toysie tiww dummeh stawt wowkin wite gain.” He grabbed up the tail again, biting down hard enough to break the skin this time. He was frustrated that the stupid Pet his dad had gotten the family was bothering him like this. First it stops working while he was still playing, and now it’s making all these dummeh noisies? Is the toy sleepies or wakies? Make up your dummeh toy mind!
“Nu, fwuf…huuuu toysie am weddy fow mowe pway, juss mebbeh be wittwe mowe gentwe wif gud toysie, su nu bweak?” His reply was a snort, and an increase in pace as the nest neared. He was drug over the root that served as a lip to the burrow, the bark scratching his delicate tummy. Once inside, his captor whipped his head to toss the pained micro into a small pile of leaves and sticks that served as the Toy Corner. Towards the middle of the room, his mummah sat with her legs folded under her like a loaf. She was watching the family of micros that her Special Friend had acquired, the family whose father had just been beaten half to death by babies for playtime.
There was a mummah micro and about a dozen babbehs of varying colors. They were the size of severely underdeveloped chirpies and therefore easy to miss, but she was enjoying watching the Micro Mummah tell them stories. It was her favorite thing to tell the micro to do.
The micro, on the other hand, had been telling stories for the better part of three hours. What’s worse, it wasn’t able to finish any! Fluffy stories can be meandering and pointless, but they DO have an end. Problem is that the Big Fluffy kept telling her to change stories before she was done. This was distressing her babbehs AND her, as the sense of relief a fluffy feels when a story concludes is necessary to offset the raised tension that the story itself creates in their emotional matrix. “Den da…da fwendwy fwowa teww da…da wost babbeh tu…how dis happen gain?”
“Dass bowing, nyu stowy tiem!” The large mummah yawned as she demanded further stories. The micro sighed, but one of her babbehs couldn’t take it. He peeped out, almost too low to hear, “NUUUUU! WAT HAPPEN TU WOST BABBEH?!?!?! NEE KNUUUUUUUUUU!” The little hellion started bucking as hard as his tiny stubby weggies would allow. No damage was done, and the whole display was very adorable. Truthfully, Fluffy Mommy enjoyed it too. Something about the pointlessness of the tantrum brought her comfort and peace she couldn’t explain.
But just then, Fluffy Daddy came home.
“Hewwo, aww fambwy!” He crooned as he entered the burrow. He rolled to his side to dump the nummies off his powerful back into the nummies corner (which was also the toysies corner) incidentally burying the bruised and sobbing microfluff. Now piled beneath nuts and berries and grassies and flowers, he slowly began to dig himself out. At least once he got to the berries and flowers, he thought, there’d be something he could eat.
Meanwhile the micro baby had not stopped screaming. “AN AN AN WAN MOWE WOOM AN WAN HAB FWENS HU NU BWUDDAS OW SISSIES AN WAN GUD NUMMIES AN-”
He was silenced by a kick from Fluffy Daddy. “Babbeh get sowwy hoofie fow bein tuu wowd.” The poor little foal tumbled head over ass backwards for about three or four feet, roughly fifteen to twenty times the length of his own tiny body. When he came to a rest, the wind was knocked out of him so badly he couldn’t even scream. He just softly huuuued as his mother waddled over to him. “BABBEH! Meanie daddeh nu huwt gud babbeh, babbeh jus cwanky! Jus nee sweepies in fwuffpiwe wif mummah!” Now it was the Fluffy Mommy’s turn to be upset. “Dummeh micwo, ou hab bad babbeh. Nu wike. Nu wan dat babbeh nu mowe, make gu way wite nao.” Micro mummah cocked her head quizzically. She wasn’t sure what this meant. “O…otay, wiww teww babbeh tu…tu be wess wowd? Sowwy, nu unnastan. Wat du nao?” The Fluffy Mommy stood. “Dat bad babbeh. Nu wan in gud nestie, make udda babbehs hab wowstest saddies an heawt huwties awso as weww. Put babbeh ousside.” Now the micro was shocked. “Huh? NUUU! Am onwy WITTWE BABBEH! Stiww nee mummah fow ebbyting! Nu can gu ousside by sewf!”
The large fluffy was growing impatient. She turned to her smallest son, who was just returning ahead of his siblings from playing in the grassies. “Poopie babbeh, gu take dummeh wittwe micwo babbeh ousside su gud mummah nu haftu wissen tu nu mowe. Mummah aweddy cumfy wif weggies unda fwuff, nu wan moob fow get wid ugwy babbeh.” The Micro mother was aghast as the large fluffy loafed back down on her folded legs. “Nyu stowy.” The Micro basically didn’t even notice. She saw the poopy baby pick up her beloved son by the scruff of his neck and carry him towards the door. She started to trot off to retrieve him when the larger fluffy yelped at her. “NU! Teww stowy nao!”
As the dejected micro began telling a new story, her beloved offspring was deposited on a tuft of crabgrass near the burrow. “Dew yu gu, hab fun dummeh babbeh. Poopy wiww miss ou.” As he deposited the sobbing babbeh and turned around, he saw his dad talking to a herd of Micros that had approached the burrow.
“Pwease big fwuffy, hewd nee nummies! Nee dwy pwace tu sweep! Fwens keep fowebba sweepin in da wawa wen da sky stawt cwyin!” Daddeh huffed. “Gu way, aweddy hab Micwos hewe. Nu wan nyu wuns makin poopies ebbywhewe an bweakin aww fambwy nice fings. Gu way ow wiww gib stompies.” The micros, dejected, hung their heads and turned to go. The recently discarded babbeh called out for help, and the herd approached him.
Back inside, the Mummah Micro had finally been dismissed. She was told “nummies tiem in cuppwe fowebas, nu gu faw way.” She scrambled to the door of the burrow. She struggled to climb it, but as she summited she was able to just catch a glimpse of her son, leaving with the new herd. It would be okay. It HAD to be okay.
Three days later, the micros huddled under some leaves, cuddling for warmth.
Thank GOD they picked up that dummeh babbeh. Otherwise they’d have starved.
