We Know Not What We Do
Part 2
It was just days later, the weekend, and that meant Steve had his chore list. Grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning up. At least at this time of the year there was no snow to shovel or grass to mow. Looking at the ceiling he mulled over the shopping list, not necessarily for himself, but for the fluffies. He’s managed to keep them alive for four days. Not too bad, if I don’t say so myself.
The moment he flushed the toilet he could hear the chirps and peeps coming from the kitchen. At no point did Steve think he was some savant, but he swore that he could tell the different noises, the difference between being scared or hungry, and this was very much a chorus of “hurry up and feed me!”
He kept his weekly morning routine, take care of himself before the fluffies. The smell of the brewing coffee filled the air. He peeked into the box as he grabbed a mug. The brown pegasus, she was on her back. They were both getting bigger, but still able to fit in his palm, and their mane and tail colors faintly coming in. But it wasn’t their size that caught his attention. It was that the brown one, still on her back and her tiny hooves waving up at him, she had her eyes open.
“Well, good morning.” Gently he cupped her in both hands even though she could fit in a single hand. Her mane and tail were going to be a very dark brown, almost black, a fitting color to match the hazel eyes and light brown coat. At this point Steve realized he hadn’t named them yet. Maybe it was that they were still crawling about and couldn’t talk, maybe because he wasn’t sure he was doing a good enough job keeping them alive. “I think it’s time to name you. How about Mocha?”
The first fluffy she ever saw was her brother, he was such a pretty purple. Then she saw the cardboard box and the stained green towel. But then she saw him. Her daddeh. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she just did. Chirp!
She waved up to him with her hooves, she knew she need love and hugs, that’s what every fluffy needed. And good fluffies needed it the most. “How about Mocha?” Her eyes went wide and she chirped again, rolling over and hugging at his finger. Her mother was gone, but this made everything okay.
Mocha’s joy was short lived. She didn’t know where she was being taken, but she had an idea. She was set down on the cold shiny thing. She managed to sit back on her rump and stared up at her daddeh, reaching up and chirping. Then, the sound. The sight. It was water, rushing down at her. Unable to escape she fell onto her back, her chirp no longer that of hunger, but now of fear.
Bathed and fed, she was put into another box, with a clean towel. She laid comfortably on the towel, eyelids drooping from the food and the bath “excitement.” Not long after her brother, the purple earthie, reunited with her. She crawled over to him and hugged him, he was just too cute not to.
Returning from his shopping trip, he returned with some bins, they were getting bigger and would soon be moving around more. This would be temporary, a small litter box to fit inside the bigger box. He saw all the different alternatives, paper pellets, cedar chips, standard clay litter, from the packaging he learned all about the “sorry poopies.” Disgusted, he hoped that these two wouldn’t be like that.
It wasn’t time to move them, but Steve figured he would set up the box in the spare bedroom. As he looked about the room. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. The bins and boxes left on top of other boxes of stuff from the move that for some reason he never emptied. Throughout the day he did his usual chores and homework. As the typical dinner time for the fluffies approached the chirping started again, they were mostly asleep during the day as the bath and feeding knocked them out.
This time, however, the purple colt stared up at Steve. He didn’t reach up towards him, but sat on his rump and swayed around. Soft lavender eyes to go with the deep purple coat and deep yellow strands of fluff sprouting from his tail and head.
“I guess it’s your turn next.” He picked up the baby, scratching around his tiny ears, “how about Prince?”
Prince chirped. Prince. He didn’t know why, but he loved it. This person, this human. His human. His daddeh. Prince held out his tiny hooves to his daddy, chirping and begging for a hug.
Sunday the room was set up for the fluffies, once they outgrew the little box. Steve was waiting for them to be able to walk to the litter box, not just walk there, but actually be able to walk into it. They were still very small. But, soon.
However, It was the following Wednesday where things started to go sideways. His friends from class wanted to go drinking. While Steve was past the partying and he didn’t mind drinking at home, he still succumbed to the begging. Two shots and three beers later Steve stumbled back into his house.
Prince and Mocha had been chirping and crawling around the box for hours. They both made sure to avoid the spots they pooped in as they tried their best to call for daddeh.
Chirp! Daddeh!
*Peeeeep!" I’m so hungry!
*Chirp chirp!" Prince is so hungry!
He tried to stand up on his hind legs, bracing himself against the box, but he couldn’t see his daddeh yet. Nothing. Chirp! Peep!
Nothing.
The hours went by, their chirps growing softer. Prince, hungry and scared, alone except for Mocha, held onto his sister. Sure, she was a brown fluffie, but he still loved her. He looked around the box again. The back towards the ceiling. Still nothing. The only thing in there besides the two fluffies, just the warm not fluff that covered the bottom. Prince wasn’t sure what this was, but, this feeling was something. It was boredom.
Agonizing boredom.
It was silent in the house except for the chirps. That was what Prince hated the most, the silence. Almost worse than the boredom. He missed his mother’s songs. He missed crawling in her fluff and hearing her heartbeat. He missed the constant hugs. If only he could get his daddeh to give him even a fraction of that attention.
Sure, he had Mocha, but that wasn’t the same. Chirp! Mocha voicing her displeasure of being hungry, he echoed just as loudly. Maybe it was them both crying out at the same time, but they heard the now common thud that meant daddeh was home.
Clumsily the two were picked up, one in each hand. Mocha chirped and waved her tiny hooves up to her daddeh. Prince just had an upset look on his face, almost a scowl. “Hungwy!”
Steve’s eyes went wide and he fell into the chair. Prince’s first word. “Your first word!” His exclamation was not lost on Prince, as his breath hit the fluffies’ face it contorted and he fell over from the disgusting smell.
Unfortunately for both Mocha and Prince, Steve was a bit too drunk and it was just too late for the usual routine. Both foals were given awkward hugs and almost too much food, then unceremoniously almost dropped back into the box with the stained towel. Mocha waddled over, her tiny wings fluttering as she dodged the piles both left around the box. They cuddled and went to sleep, neither satisfied but full.
The next few days became worse, at least that was how it felt for Prince. Each day they got bigger, and smarter. Mocha’s first word was “daddeh.” Of course it was. She was his favorite, and he knew it, well, he thought it, so that was as good as knowing. He was bored. So bored.
They were both moved into a bigger box, they still couldn’t see outside of it, as much as they both tried. Price worked hard every day trying to reach the top of the wall, but he was just too tiny. Each attempt would end with frustrated chirps and punching the wall as hard as his tiny hooves could as he ended up on his rump.
The time with daddeh was never enough. Daddeh had to share his time between him and Mocha. He would curl up and quietly wait his turn as Mocha got pet and cuddled while daddeh did something called “homewowk.” Whatever that was. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. He wanted more cuddles. More pets. More attention. He just wanted more. More than that box with just his sister.
Prince waited as patiently as he could, the whole time he hugged his tail, his ears drooping as he heard Mocha being a dancie babbeh for daddeh.