We Know Not What We Do - Epilogue \ Lovesick - Prologue
Sammy danced around the room with her vacuum, her mousy blonde hair fanning out as she spins. She wasn’t young, not long ago she hit the big 3 0, but that wasn’t going to slow her down. She’s been called many things. Silly. Young at heart. Compassionate. A free spirit, an air head, even “someone that loves too much.”
At least this time it wasn’t on a passionate relationship that lasts longer than three months. It was a pair of fluffies. Jimi, formerly Prince, and The Fluffy Formerly the Known as Prince, a male earth type fluffy with a deep purple coat and yellow mane and tail. His front left leg had been amputated because his owner was an idiot. Jimi’s sister, Mocha, just Mocha, a light brown pegasus with dark brown mane and tail. Her tail had been broken by a “munsta in da dawk,” and half way down juts sharply to the right. This was also probably due to their idiot owner.
The room Sammy had just finished was a former safe room for her former fluffies. The walls a light pink, the laminate flooring a dark chestnut. In one corner a box of toys, the other a litter box. Adorning the walls was two dozen pictures of Sammy with a multitude of fluffies. The oldest picture from her being a young teenager with her first fluffy, to her most recent ones that passed a few years ago. Her fingers traces across the frame of a freshly dusted picture. She remembered each fluffy, each of their mannerisms, the fun and love they shared.
Sammy was a girl that genuinely cared for fluffies. She had a cat and a dog when younger, but, there was something about a fluffy that sparked a passion like no other. Even the picture of her as an awkward teenager, the picture of the young Sammy holding her first fluffy had a look of bliss on her face. With a happy sigh, she closes the door on the freshly cleaned safer oom. Tomorrow was the big day.
Dr. Cheryl Clark tapped her finger on the desk watching Sammy slinking in. Neither were in their work clothes, no scrubs for Sammy today, and Cheryl’s lab coat was left hanging up on the coat hook. Both women same in on their day off at the Happy Paws Veterinary and Emergency Services, it was an important day after all. “It’s okay to change your mind.” She offered, knowing full well Sammy wouldn’t change her mind. If anything, this was exactly what she wanted.
“Not gonna. Besides, it’s been a bit since I had fluffies and those two are adorable.” She pinched at the air, “and Jimi has the cutest cheeks!” She giggled, and Cheryl was impressed at just how those two got a hold on her.
She pushed herself from the desk, “good enough for me.” Cheryl handed Sammy the schedule for Mocha’s followups, shots, and check ups. Behind it, the same for Jimi. Both had highlighted dates for getting them fixed as well, another thing their former idiot owner never took care of. “As you’ll see on the third document, as long as you remain employed here and have these two, their veterinarian services are going to be at cost. Less if you are doing the work. And…”
Sammy was already standing up, she was too impulsive. “And?”
“And take good care of them.”
“Pshaw! Don’t act like you’ll never see em again, once you expand the office for fluffy services, they’ll practically be employees!” A pensive look crossed her face, “do you think they make fluffy size scrubs?”
“Get out,” Cheryl sighed, “and take those two with you.”
The sun was nearly setting as Sammy fought past each and every coworker in Happy Paws that was making sure to give their goodbyes, which were really just “see you laters.” But everyone was going to miss those two. Both Mocha and Jimi became the favorites of everyone, and a few were feeling jealous of Sammy. An unofficial unwritten wait list had started up, and the all made sure everyone knew.
Both fluffies received new collars and tags, each snugly clipped around their necks. “These tell everyone that you have a mommy, never take them off, okay?” Sammy didn’t wait for an answer as she herded them into carrying cases. This was quite an upgrade as they had only been transported in a ratty cardboard box, and considering the situation, they probably didn’t remember those times.
The cold February air gusted into the open end of the crates, Mocha the more vocal one started complaining, “mummah, su cowd! Whewe we goin’?” Mocha, also less smart one, had forgotten briefly what was going on. “Jimi? Mummah?” She tried looking around but all she could see was the reflected sunset in the car door bounce up and down at Sammy carried both of the crates to her car. “Wat dat noise?”
“That’s the engine. I’m taking you two home now.”
“Wiww Mocha see Baws Wady?”
“You’ll see Dr Cheryl soon. We’re gonna visit her every week!” Sammy adjusted the rear view mirror so she could keep watching the two.
The twenty minute drive turned into twenty questions, each one from Mocha. “Wat’s dat gween tingy?” It was the green traffic light. “Wat’s dat woud noisy?” That’s a horn. “Whewe am Jimi?” He’s in the crate next to you. At no point did Sammy even sound irritated by her curiosity.
With a soft thud the crates hit the floor in the safe room. A click and the gate swung open. “C’mon out, this is your new home!” Jimi couldn’t miss the excitement in mummah’s voice. He took a few cautions hops out and looked around. It was bright, it was clean. It smelled nice. Another deep inhale, woom smewws weawwy nice! It was such a huge change from their last room.
As Jimi started to look around he was interrupted by a high pitch squeal, “DAT’S 'TUFFY!” Mocha darted by as fast as she could, which as a fluffy wasn’t fast, and the still limited mobility from the encephalitis Mocha looked more like a dog trying to run in socks, her legs flailed underneath her. She was slightly faster than a foals waddle and managed to tackle the stuffed animal.
“Okay you two, a few things. There are two litter boxes, and one is right here. See, right there. If you don’t make poopies in the box then you’ll make me really sad. You don’t want mummah sad, do you?”
Mocha loudly denied any such thing could be possible. “NU! Mocha wub mummah su much, nu make bad poopies. Pwomise!” Jimi was instantly suspicious, but he held back any comments.
“Good, because if you make mummah sad, I’ll have to get the sorry stick.” Jimi looked up to see Sammy kneel down as she pinched his cheek, “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Nu, mummah, Jimi use witta bawks.” Her big smile gave him such heart happies.
“Good! Now, I’m gonna go make dinner for us. But, you’ve got kibble there if you’d rather have that. I’m going to turn on Fluff-TV, so you two be good in here.”
Neither Mocha or Jimi could even ask what Fluff-TV was, they didn’t even notice mummah leave. Bright shapes, pretty pictures, cute high pitched squeaky voices. They were enthralled. Jimi leaned against Mocha, who was still latched on 'Tuffy, the two fluffies couldn’t look away. So many fluffies playing and talking and singing.
It was so many forevers, or none at all, Jimi couldn’t tell with the distraction of Fluff-TV, when mummah returned. She opened the door and asked them to follow her. Then it hit him. The smell. It was nothing Jimi could describe. He had never smelled this, but he knew what this was. This was the most bestest nummies ever. “Have you two ever had spaghetti?” That name. Yes, spaghetti. Sketti. Jimi didn’t know how or why, but he needed that. He needed that more than anything.
Mocha answered for him, strands of drool dripping from her muzzle, a wet puddle forming at her hooves. “Nu. Buh, Mucha wan sketti. Can fwuffies hab sketti? Pwease?” She sat on her haunches and tapped her front hooves together. “Dose nummies smeww su gud. An’ Mocha am a gud fwuffy. And gud fwuffies nee bes nummies.”
“And what about Jimi?”
Before Jimi could answer, Mocha chimed in again, “Weww, Jimi a gud fwuffy tu, so, mummah can gib Jimi sketti.”
“Well, that’s generous of you. Okay, you can both have some. BUT! You have to wait till I say you can eat, okay?”
“Yus, mummah,” Jimi said quietly. Mocha nodded, she kept licking her lips, the amount of drool would’ve been enough to make her drown, and probably Jimi too.
Sammy set down a bowl of spaghetti in front of both fluffies. Jimi’s eyes dilated and his mouth fell open, drooling almost as much as Mocha. Sammy didn’t let them suffer and told them to eat up as soon as she was out of the splash zone. Jimi, takes a bite without hesitation. With just one bite he lifts his head, noodles hanging out the sides of his mouth. His mouth slowly chewed and the noodles slurping into his mouth. A single tear falls, wetting his cheek. This was, quite literally, the best thing Jimi had ever tasted. He looked over at Mocha.
Mocha, Jimi thought, had never been as delicate as he was. The bowl was half empty what wasn’t in her mouth was in the bowl, or in her fluff. In her main, her tail, wings, splatters of spaghetti sauce covered the floor in a foot radius. Mocha didn’t care, her wings fluttering and her hooves tapping. Mocha was almost literally dancing in place.
The tapping, slurping, and general sound of a wild animal grunting stopped. With a full mouth Jimi looked over to Mocha, who was suddenly next to him. Her bowl empty, not just empty but licked clean. Her entire muzzle covered in sauce. She was now very much brown and red. Hao Mocha ge taiw messy? Jimi thought as he chewed.
“Umm… Jimi… Bwudda. Fabowite bwuddah. Yu stiww hab nummi sketti.” He swallowed as she kept going on. “Dat wooks wike tu much sketti fow bestest bwuddah. Mocha can hewp num yu sketties.”
He was shocked, “buh Mocha awwady hab-”
He was interrupted by Mocha getting scooped up by mummah, “looks like you’re a messy messy girl!” Mummah spun around and hoisted Mocha high in the air, “it’s time for a bath!”
“WAWA BAD FOW FWUFFieeeeeeee” Mocha’s voice trailed away as she was quickly carted off to the bathroom.
