I know this one is really long but I really liked the idea of three stories in one and didn’t want to break them up. For those who haven’t read any of my stories about David, this follows on from a series I’m writing, starting with “Conversation with an Abuser.
DAVID
Shit, just realised the time! I’d better get going. Just going to finish responding to this wanker first.
I’ve always thought that arguing with people online is a waste of time but then I don’t normally give enough of a shit about the kind of things these basement dwellers get worked up about.
Look at this twat though.
“Fluffy_justice_warrior218”. Christ. Tell me you can’t get laid without telling me you can’t get laid.
I read my message back one more time before I hit send.
@Fluffy_justice_warrior218 Did you seriously just compare abusers to the Nazis? What planet do you live on lol? I bet you think eating sushi is a micro aggression as well. If you don’t like abuse videos, don’t watch them.
Honestly, some people need to get a grip. I get that some people like fluffies and fair enough. I don’t hate them, I use them. There’s a difference, right?
But if it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s pearl clutching. Especially if you don’t practice what you preach. It’s like people who moan about battery farming while they’re scarfing down chicken wings.
Fluffies are animals. Well, I know they’re technically toys but I mean, they act like animals. People use animals. Always have.
I glance at the time again. 6pm.
Not meeting Joe til 7 but he’ll be late and we won’t get a table unless one of us is there on time, which Joe won’t be.
I glance in the mirror and decide it’ll do. Not like I’m going out on the pull. Those days are past me, thank God.
I pull my jacket on and head out. It’s a nice evening, so I’ll take a short cut through the park.
***
Fwuffy am cawwed Pink Wingy Babbeh. Dat’s because Mummah says dat am pwettiest, bewstest wingy babbeh. Dat gib fwuffy biggewst happies.
Fwuffy wib wif Mummah and Bruddah and Sista in twee pwace. Mummah say is bewstest pwace to wib except housie.
Mummah used to wib in big housie but wun 'way cos meanie hoomin’ Mummah no wet fwuffy mummah hab babies eben though babbehs am bewstest fing eba. Mummah wun way and hab Pink Wingy Babbeh and Bwuddah and Sista.
Mummah say she wub aw babbehs an dey aw bestest in dere own way. But Mummeh say Pink Wingy Babbeh am bewstest at bein’ bwavest splowin’ babbeh. Dat gib Pink Wingy Babbeh biggewst heawt happies!
Dis bwight time, Pink Wingy Babbeh gun be biggewst, bestest splowin babbeh dan eba befowe and make Mummah an Bwuddah and Sista su pwoud.
Mummah an Bwuddah an Sista stiww hab sweppies. Pink Wingy Babbeh wub tu hab sweepies in fwuffpiwe tu bu’ need tu stawt splowin now befowe Mummah wakies su Pink Wingy Babbeh can gib biggewst supwise and heawt happies wen cum back.
Pink Wingy Babbeh wiggwe out ob fwuffpiwe an neawy wake Sista, who am cawwed Pointy Bwue Babbeh.
Teehee! Siwwy Pointy Bwue Babbeh, nu wakey time yet. Wub sista! Pink Wingy Babbeh wiww see you wen you am wakies.
***
The park is quiet except for the odd jogger. Suits me.
My phone buzzes. Helen.
“Just about to start my shift. Say hi to Joe for me. Love you. And behave yourself 
xx”
She’s great. I love her. I really do. I’m going to have to tell her about the fluffy abuse at some point. Or stop doing it. One or the other.
“I always behave!” I text back. “Love you. Have a good shift xx”
Not sure how she’ll take it. She’s super compassionate, being a nurse and everything.
She has a cynical streak though. Plus I know she was watching abuse videos at one point.
“Hewwo, nice mista”
I’m snapped out of my train of thought by the unmistakable squeaky voice that can only be a fluffy.
I look down to see a tiny pink pegusus looking up at me, a dopey inane smile plastered all over its little face.
I really don’t have time for this but I stop in spite of myself and smile back.
“Hi there”, I say, wondering why I’m bothering. I really don’t have time for this. “And who are you then?”
“Fwuffy’s namsie am Pink Wingy Babbeh”
Must be a feral. No proper name, and only an owner-less fluffy who named its own babies would come up with something so asinine.
I would assume she’s not orphaned. She doesn’t look neglected and she seems happy enough.
“And what are you doing walking about on your own?” I ask, knowing that the more I engage, the harder it’s going to be to walk away.
“Am ‘sporin’ babbeh”, came the proud reply.
That’s when I know I’m going to be late. Fuck it, Joe probably will be as well. He always is.
"Is that so?” I say, hoping that I sound appropriately impressed. Not that it’s difficult. You don’t have to be an academy award winner to fool a fluffy.
“Dat’s wite! Pink Wingy Babbeh make Mummeh an Brudda and Sista pwoud. An wen Pink Wingy Babbeh am big fwuffy, am gun fwy wif wingies an be eben bigga splowin babbeh!”
Well that’s just too good an opening not to exploit. Christ, I’m only human.
"You mean you can’t use your wings yet?’ I gasp in faux surprise.
“Siwweh mista”, she replied. “Am stiww tu wittwe to use wingies”.
I lean forward conspiratorially. “I can show you how to use your wingies now. Then you could be a flying exploring baby. Would you like that?”
She gasps, taking the bait hook line and sinker, as I knew she would.
“Weawwy?! Nice mista show Pink Wingy Babbeh how to fly? Fank yu nice mista. Pink Wingy Babbeh wub nice mista.”
I scoop the little moron up in one hand, as I quickly text Joe to tell him I’m running late.
Not that this will take too long.
***
Pink Wingy Babbeh hab biggest heawt happies. Nice mista show Pink Wingy Babbeh how to fwy! Su many happies!
Wiww fwy back to twee pwace and suwpwise Mummah an Sista and Bruddah an gib dem aw heawt happies.
Mawbe nice mista be nu Daddah an we aw lib in bestest housie.
An Mummah wiw say dat she wub Pink Wingeh Babbeh an fank yu for being bewstest, bwabest splowin babbeh eba!
***
I practically leap through my front door, nudging it shut behind me.
My new found companion has been babbling to herself in excitement this whole time. All is right with the world as far as she’s concerned.
We’ll soon see about that, won’t we?
I’m about to dash up the stairs when a thought occurs to me.
This is going to make one hell of a mess on my floor. Fuck that, I’m running late as it is.
I nip into the kitchen a grab a couple of good sized dish towels and lay them on the floor, on the landing just under the area where the top of the stairs overlooks the front hall.
This soon to be ex fluffy looks at me quizzically.
“Just getting things ready”, I smile at her.
She beams at me and for just a second, I feel sorry for her. Still, that’s life. Never works out the way we hope it will.
I carry her up the stairs and stand at the point where the bannister overlooks the towel covered area. About 9 and a half feet. That’ll do.
"Are you ready to learn the secret of flying?” I ask her in an excited whisper.
She nods enthusiastically, too excited to talk.
“First, you flap your wings. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Pink Wingy Babbeh do dat, nice mista!”, she exclaims, frenziedly flapping them by way of demonstration. “But do dat wots of times and neba fwy befowe”.
“That’s because you don’t know the second part”, I explain, keeping the excited whispering tone in my voice. “You have to think the happiest thoughts you can. Can you do that?”
“Pink Wingy Babbeh can du dat!”, she trilled in delight.
“OK”, I say, holding her over gap. "Flap your wings and think your happiest thoughts. Then I’ll let you go.
"Otay!” came the delighted reply. “Pink Wingy Babbeh am weady”!
So am I. You’d best believe it
***
Dis am bewstest day eba. Nice mista teww Pink Wingy Babbeh how to fwy.
Nice mista gib Pink Wingy Babbeh upsies. Fwoow is wong wey down bu’ nu hab scawdies.
Pink Wingy Babbeh gib wingies bewstet fwap and hab biggewst happy thinkies.
Pink Wingy Babbeh tink of Mummeh an Bruddah and Sista and how dey say how smarties an bwave Pink Wingy Babbeh am.
***
I hold the little wannabe aviator out above the gaping abyss that is my stairwell and let go. She plummets like a stone. Silly bitch doesn’t even have time to scream.
***
Wheeeeee! Pink Wingy Babbeh am fwying! Hab bestest feewing in tummeh pwace. Am fwying! Am fwy…
***
I look down at the mangled pile of limbs lying at the bottom of my staircase.
Offff, I felt that one!
Let’s go and see if there’s anything left.
***
Su…su huwties. Nu unnerstan’ wat happen. Weggies hab huwties. Thinkiepwace hab huwties. Tawkiepwace taste wike booboo wawa.
Can see nice mista wookin. Nice mista’s tawkiepwace move but heawpwace make buzzy noisie so nu unnderstan’ aw wowdies.
“…and I thought you were such a clever, brave exploring baby…just stupid…worst…”
Pink Wingeh Babbeh nu brave spowin’ babbeh. Su scawdie…wan Mummah…ne’huggies…wan Mummah…wan…
***
She’s barely recognisable as a fluffy. Fuck, I can’t tell where one mangled limb ends and her smashed up body begins.
Her mouth is moving but I can’t make out what she’s saying.
A wet sounding gurgle bubbles out from her mouth as the blood dribbles into the towel that I’m glad I had the foresight to lay down.
The light in her eyes is just about there but it’s fading fast.
As what was left of the spark of life slowly ebbs away, I catch the faintest sensation of the taste but it doesn’t last for long.
Was I too quick or is she just too fucked up to fully process the fact of her death?
Ah well, conjuring existential dread is an art, not a science. Can’t win 'em all.
I wrap the battered corpse up in the towel and throw it in the bin.
I head back out the door and drop Joe another text to let him know I’m on my way.
I make good time through the park and by the time I hit the high street, the Friday night bustle is well under way.
I hate being late. I’m never late. Is my fluffy obsession getting out of hand?
I know Joe won’t care that I’m slightly late but still… all I could think about was getting that fix of fluffy fear. And it wasn’t all that great this time and now it’s itching at me again. Is this how addiction gets underway?
I’m snapped out of this negative train of thought but the familiar sound of fluffy sobbing. I look up and see an orange and blue shape running towards me. I definitely don’t have time for this.
It’s getting closer now. I brace myself for the inevitable pleading about “nu homsies and huggies an wub”. Oh, if only it knew…
As it happens, it turns out to be a moot point.
"Huhuhuhuhu!” it sniffles, before looking up at me with pathetic eyes.
Something seems to trigger a reaction in the fluffy and before I can say anything else, it lets out one of those shrill screams that we all know and love.
“Screeeeeeeeee! Nu wook mista hoomin! Abewaham am nakie! Abewaham am tewwible sinnah! Nu wook at speciaw wumps! Am nakie! AM NAKIE!!! SCREEEEEEEE!”
He bolts off into the distance like a bat out of Hell, leaving me feeling just a tiny bit bewildered.
Like I said, I don’t have time for this. The pub is just around the corner now. Better get a move on.
JOE
Friday night and the lights are low. Looking out for a place to go! Heh heh!
Wayhey! Friday night! Best night of the week if you ask me.
“And what can we expect this fine evening, Jeeves?” I say to myself, just for laughs.
“Well sir, we thought that we’d start the evening at one of the town centre’s many drinking establishments, followed perhaps by a cheeky Nandos. Then homeward to skin up and watch fail videos on YouTube. Does that sound agreeable, sir?”
“Sounds fuckin’ magic, Jeeves”.
That was a running joke David and I used to have back in the day. Still think it to myself whenever I’m about to go for one of our catch ups.
I drain the beer I’m drinking and get ready to head out. Got to get your pre drinks in, int’cha?
Don’t want to keep Davey boy waiting.
He’s a funny lad, is David. Known him for years. Clever bloke. Funny too, but you wouldn’t know it until you sat down to talk to him properly. It’s what I like about him. He doesn’t rub it in your face. He ain’t a snob or nothing.
Right, let’s do this.
***
Fwuffy’s name am Abwaham. Abwaham wib in boxie.
Abwaham used to hab house wif Daddah but den Daddah hab foweba sweepies. Su saddies. Hu!
Abwaham wubbed Daddah eben du Daddah got biggewst angwies sum bwightimes.
Daddah say dat he wub Abwaham eben du Abwaham am 'bomination.
Abwaham nu weawy unnerstan’ wat 'bomination mean.
Daddah say day 'bomination mean dat Chwist hab biggewst saddies wen hoomins nu fowwow his wowdies.
Daddah say he nu ‘sposed to hab fwuffy because fwuffy am against Chwist but Daddeh hab biggewst wonewy saddies and dat wai he wook after Abwaham
Daddeh say dat he am sinnah tu.
Abwaham nu tink Daddeh bad but Abwaham get scawdie when Daddeh call him 'bomination and gib huwties. Hu!
Daddeh gib huggies sometimes tu an Abwaham wub Daddeh for dat.
Wun bwightime, Wady came to see Daddeh. Wady say she am cawwed sociaw wowkew.
Abwaham nu unnerstan’ wat dat mean but wady say she wan help Daddeh.
Abwaham tink dat gud ting but Daddeh hab biggewst angwies.
He caww wady hawwet an Jezabew and say dat wady’s not fwuff tu widdwe an can see hew weggies. Daddeh say dat wady am almost nakie an’ dat wady’s fwesh make Daddeh’s seepwaces maddies.
Abwaham nu unnderstan but Daddeh aways say dat hoomin hab tu cobew up dere fwesh or wiww gib Chwist biggewst saddies.
Daddeh say dat nakie is fo’ biggewst baddies am dat if yu nakie yu am sinnah and dat wadies am aw hawwots.
Daddeh gib biggewst shouties at wady and den say he hab heawt hurties an fall oba and hab scawy wawa come fwom tawkiepwace.
Abewaham hab biggewst saddies and biggewst scawdies an wun way su wady nu gib Abewaham huwties tu.
But Abewaham nu wike boxie housie and miss Daddeh.
***
‘Kin hell, I’m running late. Don’t know how I manage it but I always do. I’m a man of many talents me, but my timekeeping is shit, I’ll admit it. I was already to go an’ all.
Ah well, David’s used to it by now.
As if by magic, my phone dings. Speak of the Devil eh?
“Sorry mate, running late. Maybe half an hour so”.
Well there’s a fucking turn up! Davey boy running late. I’ll rip the piss out of him for that later.
Speaking of piss, those pre-drinks are coming back to haunt me, if you know what I mean.
Not far now but there’s always a queue for the bogs in the Queen’s Head so I nip into an alley way for a slash.
Ah sweet relief!
“Dummeh mista! Wai make peepees! Abwaham can see ur nunu stick!”
What the fuck? I look down and wouldn’t you know it, there’s a little blue and orange face peering up at me, and I have to laugh because it looks proper angry.
I’ve got nothing against fluffies myself.
The way I see it, you’ve got your nice ones and your not so nice ones and I treat them accordingly. Same with people, know what I mean?
"What’s that mate?” I ask him. David’s running late after all and I’ll talk to anyone, me.
“Abwaham can see dummy mista’s nunu stick”, he says again. Nunu stick? I think that’s what they call their knobs, innit?
“Sorry mate”, I say. “Call of nature”. This does not go down at all well.
“Abwaham nu cawe! Nunu stick gib Chwist biggewst angwies!”
I’m fucking gobsmacked. Did he just say my dick will make Jesus angry?!
Hahahaha! Fuck me, a bible bashing fluffy! People will think I’m winding them up when I tell them.
“Listen mate”, I say to him. “I don’t know who you’ve got this from but there’s no need to get wound up, is there? It’s all just nature, innit?”
Nope, that didn’t help either. It’s glaring at me now, proper fire and fucking brimstone too. Fuck me, it’ll be praying for my soul next!
“Let me ask you this”, I say.
See, this is why I’m late all the time.
“I’m guessing with a name like Abraham, you’re a boy fluffy, yeah?”
“Dats wite”, he says back, puffing his little checks out. Cute really.
“Well then, you’ve got a nunu stick too. And we can all see it. Does that make you bad?”
***
Dummeh hoomin. Yu nu unnerstan’. Nunu stick gib Cwist biggewst angwies. Daddeh say su. Abwaham twy to teww him bu dummeh hoomin nu wisten.
Den dummeh hoomin say dat he see Abwaham’s nunu stick.
Dummeh hoomin!
“Abwaham hab nunu stick but it am at backsie su nu can see it.”
Dummeh hoomin make laughie noisie.
He teww Abwaham that he can see nunu stick an dat ebeywun can see nunu stick if dey stand at Abwaham’s backsie.
Abwaham nu thinkie dis befowe.
“Can see nunu stick…?”
Dummeh hoomin gets wittwe boxie out and howds it at Abwaham’s backie. Dere am stwange noisy an den dummeh hoomin tell Abwaham tu wook.
Boxie hab pictuwe…Abwaham nu dat picture.. dat am nunu stick.
But dat mean…
Dat mean Abwaham am nakie.
DAT MEAN ABWAHAM AM NAKIE!
NUUUUUUUUUUU! SCREEEEEEEE!
***
Fuck me, my ears! That was a scream and a half and no mistake.
“Calm down, mate”, I say, trying to stop him from throwing a paddy.
I feel bad now because I weren’t trying to wind him up.
But the little guy has bolted and is legging it down the road as fast as he can. Which ain’t fast, to be fair.
“Screeeeeeeeeeeeee! Abwaham am nakie! Pwease nu hab angwies mista Chwist!”
I go to yell at him to come back but I can’t because I’m fucking pissing myself.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mean to stress him out but you have to admit, that’s fucking funny.
I stand there and watch him retreat into the distance. Not much else I can do really.
Best get to the pub before I’m even later than David.
Should probably delete the picture of that fluffy’s todger off my phone an’ all, otherwise people might talk.
Funny old life, innit?
HELEN
God, what a night! I thought that shift would never end.
I gather my things from the locker and check my phone. There’s a text from David. 3am? Someone had a good night!
“Sleeping on Joe’s sofa. Love you xx. PS.I’m pissed”.
Haha! You don’t say. Honestly, those two are like a pair of teenagers when they get going.
I step out into the chilly dawn and stifle a yawn. Food, shower and bed, in that order. And then back here in twelve hours to do it all again. Lucky me!
“Well Helen, we told you it was a tough job”, I hear my mum’s voice say in my head. They did indeed.
I’m at my car when I hear it. A soft sobbing.
“Huhuhuhu”
Just ignore it. It’s a fluffy. You hear them all the time. Not like this one though. God, it sounds so…broken.
I honestly don’t know how to feel about fluffies. They’re loud, they smell and they’re demanding. But they’re alive.
I’m not convinced by the whole toy argument.
It just feels like people trying to justify the fact that they get off on hurting something smaller than them and frankly, I’ve dealt with too any battered women in A and E for it not to rub me the wrong way.
“They were asking for it” or “They keep coming back for more.” Do me a favour.
I went through a stage of watching abuse videos. I wanted to work out why people did it. I don’t know why I thought I’d get an answer. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that people just don’t make sense sometimes.
I watched a few on David’s phone one time because mine was charging upstairs. He never said anything so I don’t know if he noticed. I hope not. He doesn’t wear his heart in his sleeve but he’s a kind man and I think it would bother him.
The sobbing continues and with a sigh, I walk towards it.
***
Abwaham hab biggewst heawt huwties!
Twy tu be bewstest fwuffy bu’ aw dis time hab been nakie! Am wowstest sinnah eba an gib Chwist biggewst saddies. Am dat wai Daddeh hab foreba sweepies?
Huhuhuhuhu!
Abwaham am wowstest fwuffy eba. Nu deserve wub or huggies or any nice fings Huhuhuhuhu!
***
I walk towards the hedge row at the side on the car park. The sobbing gets louder.
"Hello?” I say in my best bedside manner voice, being careful not to be too loud. “I going to stick my head in and check you’re OK. I’m telling you so you don’t get a shock. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I slowly pull the branches apart so that there’s room for me to stick my head in and I’m greeted by the sight of a blue fluffy with a shock of orange mane.
It’s an earthie or whatever it is that they call the ones without wings or horns.
It’s a sorry, skinny looking little thing. Its fur is filthy and he smells suspiciously like shit. Still, nothing you don’t get from some of people on the ward when they’re their worst.
What really gets me is the look of abject misery on its poor little face.
“Hi”, I say, trying not to let my disgust at the odour emitting from him. “What’s your name?”
“Abwaham”, he replies in a pitiful tone, after a slight pause.
“Well Abraham, I’m Helen. You look like you might need some help. Can I help you?”
This doesn’t have the impact I thought it would. I thought that fluffies were hardwired to want human interaction. Someone has done a number on Abraham. Either that or I don’t understand fluffies as much as I thought I did.
Whichever one is the case, Abraham tilted his head back and lets out a fresh wail.
“Huuuuuuuuuuuuu! Abwaham nu deserbe hewp! Am wowstest fwuffy eba. Hab nakies su gib Daddeh foweba sweepies an make Cwist su maddies! Huhuhuhuhu!”
Ok then…
That is a lot to unpack and I am way too tired to know where or how to begin. Plus, the carpark is going to start getting busy soon as the outpatient departments open and the last thing I need is any of those gossips to see this. I’ll never hear the end of it.
Just go. I’m a nurse, not a vet. Or a psychiatrist, which is I’m starting to think might be warranted, as I watch Abraham slowly rock back and forth.
More to the point, I’m a tired nurse who needs to sleep before I have to come up here and look after actual patients. Come on, Helen, self-care isn’t selfish.
I sigh and scoop Abraham into my arms. I wonder if I’m breaking some sort of fluffy etiquette by picking him up without asking. He doesn’t say anything if I have. He’s too busy mumbling and sobbing. I hear the words " diwty nu nu stick" and “sinnah”. Wow…
I wrap him in a blanket I keep in the boot for emergencies and put him in the front seat of the car next to me. The seat belt doesn’t really hold him properly. It’s not a long drive and the roads are still fairly quiet. It’s early on a Saturday morning after all.
The ride home is mercifully quick and the bundle of dirt and fluff next to me barely reacts. God, what am I doing?
I carry him out of the car and into the house before setting him on the kitchen table, trying to make sure that the clean bits of the blanket act as a buffer between the surface and Abraham’s grubby little bum.
He needs a wash (so do I, I smell like 12 hour night shift) and I’ve got it in head that fluffies don’t reacts well to water. This should be fun.
I stoop down so I’m at eye level with him.
"We’re in my house now.” I tell him, in my best nurse voice. “I’m not going to hurt you and don’t have to stay. But I think you should. Just while you rest for a bit. We can work out what to do after that”.
Nothing. Tough crowd. Still, nothing I haven’t had before in one form or another.
I walk over to the sink and start to fill.it with warm water and some fairy liquid. I suspect you’re meant to use some sort of special shampoo but it’ll have to do. Seems like the lesser of two evils at this point.
I pick Abraham up from the table and carry him over to the sink.
***
Abwaham nu unnerstan wai wady take tu housie. Abwaham nu desewbe anyfing bu’ huwties.
Den Abwaham see wady make boxie fuww of wawa an Abwaham unnerstan’.
Wawa am bad for fwuffies an Abwaham am wowstest fwuffy. So nice wady hewp Abwaham by gibing wawa huwties.
Abwaham nu twy an stop wady. Dis am wat Abwaham desewbe.
Wady put Abwaham in wawa boxie. Wawa am wawmsie an smeww pwetty.
Den wady wub wawa aw oba Abwaham’s fwuff. Abwaham nu unnderstan’. Wawa bad fo fwuffie but Abwaham wike dis.
Abwaham twy to wemembew am bad fwuffy bu wady’s make Abwaham feew su pwetty an nicey. Coooo!
***
After several minutes of vigorous scrubbing with no response from Abraham, I finally feel his body relax as the grime works its way out of his fur (God, the colour of that water though).
Eventually he even lets out a soft coo, which is surely a good sign.
“My goodness”, I say “There’s a handsome fluffy underneath all that dirt.”
This elicits the briefest of giggles. Maybe he’s not as far gone as I thought.
“Let’s get you out and dried off”, I smile down at him, in an attempt to keep the momentum going. Should have known it wouldn’t last.
"Huuuuuhuhu!” comes a fresh wave of sobbing. “Pwease nu take Abwaham out of wawa boxie”, he squealed in a pleading tone. “Nu wan nice wady to see Abwaham nakie!”
Oh God, not this again. Give me strength. Hey, I’m the pushover who couldn’t walk away, this is on me.
I don’t have the will or brain power to argue at this point. Hang on a minute…
“I’ve got something for you to help with that”, I say, grabbing a nappy from the pile of boxes in the corner. Donations to go to the local foodbank, as part of a community programme. I’ll keep a box aside and replace it later.
“Bu’ dat fo’ widdwe babies”, Abraham replies, just the faintest note of indignation creeping into his voice “Abwaham nu’ how tu make gud poopies!”
That’s good I guess. There’s enough personality left in there to argue with something he doesn’t like.
“I won’t make you wear it”, I explain as calmly as I can, although I’m glad to learn that he’s house trained. “But if you’re really worried about being naked, you can cover yourself up".
There’s a brief pause where I can almost see the cogs in his brain turning.
After some hesitation, he hangs his head and mutters “Nice wady hewp Abwaham put on diapee pweasw?”
I smile and help him. “I can get you a clean one when you need it”, I reassure him. “And maybe even find something for you to use as a litter tray. But I’m very tired right now. And hungry. How about you?”
As if on cue, I hear a loud rumbling.
“Abwaham hab biggewst hungwies”, he whines mournfully. “Bu’ Abwaham nu deserbe nummies.”
I ignore this but walk to the fridge and get some left over vegetable lasagne out. I hear these things like spaghetti. I wonder if this will work.
I stick it in the microwave for a few seconds and put half of it in a bowl and place it on the floor. I gently pick Abraham up and place him on the floor, next to the bowl.
I start eating mine, not making a big deal out of it but watching him from the corner of my eye.
As suspected, hunger overcomes whatever weird self-hatred he’s going through and he sticks his snout into the bowl and eats like he hasn’t eaten in days. Which he probably hasn’t.
“D..dank yu, nice wady”, he says, hardly able to meet my eye.
“My name is Helen”, I smile back.
“Listen Abraham. I’m very tired and I have to go back to work soon. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. In the meantime though, you can sleep here. When I’m less exhausted and we have some time to talk, we’ll figure out what you’re going to do. Would you like that?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments but eventually nods his head.
I pick him up and grab a spare duvet from the cupboard. I walk into my room and place the duvet on the floor at the foot of my bed.
“Wrap yourself in this”, I say to him. “If you need anything, wake me. But try not to make me unless you have to”.
“Otay Hewen”. He’s already burrowing into the duvet. Good, because I’ve almost used up my final reserves of nice.
I quickly change and collapse into bed. I’m too tired to shwer. I’ll do it before my shift.
Immediately, sleep starts to overtake me. Am I really going to adopt a fluffy? I don’t know. I can’t think about that now.
My final thought is of David and what he’ll make it this. Big softie that he is, he’ll probably try and talk me into keeping him.
I hear Abraham snoring softly from the duvet pile. About 30 seconds later, I join him.