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- >Rainstorm
- >There's thunder and lightning everywhere.
- >Damn near tropical storm status.
- >Some days when it's lightly raining you like to sit by a window and read a book, maybe have some tea.
- >Like a gentleman.
- >But it's already dark out, and it's not really a pleasant downpour.
- >More like the clouds exploding.
- >So instead you're in your bed, snuggling with your beloved little fluffy buddy, Boomer.
- >His yellow-orange fluff stands out against your light blue sheets.
- >He's laying there, shaking a little bit.
- >He doesn't like lightning.
- >Strangely, the thunder, no matter how loud it is, or how badly it shakes the house, doesn't bother him a bit.
- >But a flash of lightning always gets a reaction out of him.
- >He lies there, shaking and occasionally moaning and trying to hug his tummy.
- >He ate a less than fresh bell pepper today, and his stomach has been aching since dinner.
- >Freaking Mexican grocery store produce. It's the farmer's market from now on.
- >Not much that can be done now but comfort him until the pain passes.
- >Fluffies are so small and have such low tolerance, that most pain medicine is too strong for them, even if you use only a small piece.
- >He once drank some of your tea you had left out, and the tiny caffiene buzz was enough to send the little guy up a wall (almost literally) for the rest of the day.
- >This isn't his first tummyache, so he knows from experience to tell you immediately if he feels like he's about to throw up or poop.
- >You've moved his poopy box next to the bed for such emergencies.
- >Until that happens, you hold him close and gently rub his side fluff. He purrs softly.
- >Lightning flash.
- >”Eeeee! Scawwy wight!”
- >Boomer startes shaking more and puts his tiny hooves over his eyes as best he can.
- >Ka-BOOM goes the thunder.
- >Not a single fluffy fuck given, but he's still upset over the lightning.
- >You pull him to your face and nuzzle his fur to calm him down.
- >He had a bath earlier, so his fluff smells pillowy fresh.
- >Thank God someone took the effort to make fluffy-safe cleaning products.
- >Boomer calms down a little and looks up at you.
- >”Daddy, tummy feew funny. Make mouf yukky!”
- >You immediately pick him up and roll over to drop him in his poopy box.
- >Timing is perfect, as Boomer vomits into the box.
- >A aesthetic mix of fluffy bile and the half-digested rice and pepper meal he ate for dinner that has made its displeasure known is now decorating his box.
- >Better the box than your bed.
- >”You feel a little better, buddy?”
- >Boomer doesn't respond, but instead squints his eyes and squats down.
- >Another flash of lightning, and Boomer yelps. The sudden scare opens the rectal floodgates.
- >He spews diarrhea all over the box, a veritable torrent of brown lava mixed with flecks of half-digested rice and pepper. Again. His digestive system clearly hated the meal as much as the meal hated it.
- >”Feew betta, Daddy. Tummy no huwt as much.”
- >You get up out of bed and carry Boomer to the bathroom.
- >You put him in the sink and wash the vomit off his face.
- >You then turn him around and rinse the shit still stuck to his back fluff.
- >If he's gonna be on your bed, he's not going to funk it up.
- >”Boomer cowd! Wawa not wawm.”
- >”I know, it's just a quick rinse. No need to use hot water for that.”
- >You dry him off with his little fluffy towel and carry him back to the bedroom.
- >You drop him on the bed and take the poopy box out to empty it.
- >Still raining like a motherfucker out there.
- >Fuck that noise. You shovel the shit and puke-stained litter into the kitchen garbage and spray some Febreeze.
- >You put the box back where it was next to the bed and get back on, your back to the mattress.
- >Boomer jumps on top of you and climbs up to your stomache.
- >”Boomer cwimb mowntan! Am best fwuffy cwimbew eva!”
- >You guys watched a show about mountain climbing earlier. He thought it was the coolest damn thing.
- >He has one hoof pushing into your belly button, which kinda feels funny. You'd normally make him get off, but he looks so triumphant up there.
- >Boomer jumps down anyway. I guess the triumphant don't like to rest on their laurels for too long.
- >”You sure your tummy feels better, Boomer?”
- >”Tummy stiww huwt a wittwe, but no mo big owies.”
- >More lightning. Boomer squeaks, and runs to hug you.
- >”Scawwy wight! Why scawwy wight? No wan!”
- >You put him on your chest and pet him as he lies down and listens to your heartbeat.
- >He's right. It's a pretty bad storm. You haven't seen a storm this bad since.....
- >Well, since the night Boomer was born....
- (TO BE CONTINUED)
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