For you dear fluff it is both.
It will be death.
It’s the Great Mighty Poo in disguise.
~notices the corn~
Thankfully fluffy, it’s your birthday and you can cry if you want to.
… with corn.
I’d think the fluffy would be able to determine via scent AKA the one sense fluffys are actually halfway decent at. Unless there’s something covering it up…
Only way to find out!
Fluffy roulette: Bowl of kibble with a single dried rabbit dropping among them.
I fucking love this. It’s so hilarious to put a fluffy into a moral dilemma of “oh fuck, is this poopies or pretty nummies!?” – perpetuating panic and brain breaking.
In a surprise twist, it is the fluffy that is a cake.