Ichi - Home

>“So… How many fluffies do you want to adopt?”. The girl behind the counter is really cute: silky brown hair, glasses, a hint of freckles… Nice tits, too.
>Heh. Probably shouldn’t look at her breasts, it’s not polite.
>“Um… Well, since it’s my first time, I think I’ll start with just one?”.
>She giggles. “A first-timer, huh? Yeah, if you’re not used to them, fluffies can be really tricky to manage. Many people adopt two or three of them at a time, though, with them being very social creatures and all… Solitude is one of the things fluffies fear and suffer the most”.
>You scratch the back of your neck. “Oh… I see. Well, I can always come back and get my first fluffy a playmate, right?”.
>She gives you a little, knowing smile. “Of course. Okay, follow me, I’ll show you what we have here at the moment”.
>The girl takes you to the fluffy room: the cages are full of little babbling fuzzballs, but luckily for them they’re not overcrowded. One of the animals – a little, peach-colored pegasus – spots you and instantly starts yelling: “New dahdeh! Take fwuffy home! Gud fwuffy!”. A couple of seconds later, you’re assaulted by and endless, adorable cacophony of “Gif huggies pwease!” and “Fwuffy wuv new dahdeh!”.
>You look at the girl. “Are they always so excited?”.
>She grins. “Only in large quantities, usually. They don’t shout as much after you adopt them. Here, well… every one of them is trying to attract your attention, basically. They may be a little dim, but they understand that their chances to be adopted are really slim”.
>You start browsing the mass of technicolor mini-horses around you, not paying attention to those who are trying their best to hug you through the cages. You’re looking for a pet that is more laid-back and subdued.
>In the second to last cage, a beautiful, monotone black unicorn catches your attention. “He’s new here”, the girl explains. “Won’t last very long, monotone black fluffies are pretty rare”.
>“He’s really cool”, you respond. You look at him and he stares back with chilling green eyes. “New dahdeh? Take fwuffy home now! No wan’ stay hewe, dese fwuffies dumb an’ meanie!”.
>“He’s kinda bossy, though”, the young woman continues. “He has been abandoned by his previous owner, so he’s a bit pampered, and…”:
>She suddenly stops talking the moment she noticed you’re looking inside the last cage. There’s only one fluffy in there, a stout earth pony with light blue fluff and a dark green mane. He lies on his belly, with a depressed look on his face and in his oddly pale grey eyes; there’s something wrong with his tail, too: it’s shorter and messier than those of the other fluffies, like someone has trimmed it really badly. You wave a hand in front of him. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”, you ask. He just sighs, like he hasn’t noticed you a lot. “Why is this one here all by himself? I thought they were very social animals…”.
>The girl bites her lower lip. “Well… The other fluffies bullied him, that’s why. He was born blind, y’know… And we had to partially amputate his tail because it broke during birth when it was caught in his mother’s rear fluff. We, um…”. She looks down sheepishly. “…we are considering putting him down next week…”.
>“I’ll take him”, you tell her before she’s finished talking. “He’s the one I want”.
>She stares at you for a couple of seconds. “A-are you sure?”.
>“Why? Is he not up for adoption?”.
>“N-no, he is, but…”. She looks embarrassed and… relieved, maybe? “…well, nobody ever wanted him, so…”.
>“Well, I do”, you simply answer. That blind fluffy looks like someone desperately in need for some love and affection, and you can’t stand the thought of him being put down just because the other fluffy ponies are being mean to him.
>The girl opens the cage and picks the lonely fluffy up. While she puts him in your arms, he asks with a feeble, saddened voice. “Whev’ fwuffy go?”.
>“Home”, you tell him, petting him gently. “I’ll be your new dad from now on”.
>He starts trembling. “W-w-weawwy? Hooman… d-dahdeh?”, he asks, like he can’t believe what you just said.
>“Really”, you reply.
>The fluffy doesn’t speak. He doesn’t cheer, he doesn’t thank you or ask for hugs.
>He just starts crying softly, his head pressed against the cotton of your t-shirt.
>You hold him against your chest with your arm, so that he can feel your heartbeat, and look at the girl: her eyes seem watery too. “You’re, well…”, she tentatively starts. “You’re doing a great thing. A really great thing”. She scribbles something on a piece of paper and stuffs it in your free hand. “Here’s my number. Should you need, you know, any piece of advice regarding fluffies, well… feel free to call me, okay?”.
>Usually the event of a cute girl giving you her number would’ve been celebrated appropriately; right now, though, and until you arrive home, the only thing you seem able to focus on is the quiet, tranquil cry of the blind fluffy resting against your heart.

>You live in a small two-room apartment, so you don’t have a space to convert into a safe room. Luckily, your neighbour still had a large playpen with padded sides from when her twin daughters were babies, and she was more than glad to lend it to you. You’ve built it before going to the fluffy shelter, and equipped it with everything a fluffy could ask for: a litterbox, some soft blankets, a rubber ball and a pack of construction blocks. Luckily, you decided to also buy one of those large hamster water bottles instead of a water bowl.
>You put the fluffy inside the playpen, telling him: “Here, buddy, this is your new home”.
>He starts sobbing loudly the moment he can’t feel the warmth of your body against his. “N-nuu, dahdeh pwease, no weave f-fwuffy… No wan’ be awone ‘gain…”.
>“I’m still here, don’t worry. I just want to explore your new playpen for a bit. I’m sorry you can’t have a safe room, but…”.
>“Wha’ safe woom?”, he asks, plopping on his haunches and pointing his muzzle in the general direction of your voice.
>“It’s… oh, never mind”. He was born and raised at the shelter, after all, so all he’s ever known was a cold metal cage. “Just loo… I mean, walk around for a bit and tell me if you think something’s wrong”.
>For the next twenty minutes, you look the fluffy carefully inspecting every nook and cranny of his new house; he’s very calm and cautious for a fluffy, most probably because he can’t see. Still, he often bumps into the padded walls, and every time he lets out the tiniest and most adorable “oopsie”.
>The moment he finds the blankets, he starts crying in joy again. “Fwuffy neva haf *sniff* bwankie befo’…”. He snuggles them, marvelling at how soft and warm they are. “An’ smeww pwetty!”.
>After he finished exploring his playpen, he sits down again. He seems preoccupied. “Whev’ dahdeh? Tawk wif fwuffy, pwease”.
>You pick him up and sit on the sofa, putting him into your lap. “I’m here, buddy. Like your new home?”.
>He hugs your right thigh. “Fwuffy wike! Dat bestest home eva! An’ dahdeh bestest dahdeh eva!”.
>You’ve heard fluffies are loving creatures, but this one is an absolute sweetheart… Must feel really grateful for the fact he has been adopted. You pet his back fluff for a couple of minutes, then proceed to rub and tickle his belly, a thing that he apparently loves.
>After some cuddling, though, you suddenly realize something. “Hey, I was wondering… do you have a name?”.
>He sadly shakes his head. “Nuu, no haf name… Onwy gud fwuffies haf name…”.
>“Well, you are a good fluffy, so what if I give you one? Or do you want to pick a name by yourself?”.
>“Wan’ dahdeh choose, wan’ dahdeh choose!”.
> “Okay, let’s see…”. You can’t name him as an object he doesn’t know, let alone a colour; he could ask you what his name means, and how could you explain the concept of “colours” to a blind fluffy? Sure, you could always lie on the meaning of the name, but it wouldn’t feel right… Because you want your fluffy’s name to have a meaning for him.
>Finally, your eyes fall on one of your DVD shelves... Specifically, on you samurai movies collection. Bingo!
>“Your name will be Ichi”, you tell him. A short name, easy for the fluffy to pronounce. The perfect choice. “It means ‘one’, because you’re my one and only fluffy, and it’s also the name of a really bada… um, strong human, because your daddy hopes you’ll become as strong as he was”.
>The fluffy smiles again. “Ichi wuv new name”, he states, nodding vigorously.

>The next morning, before going to work, you check on Ichi: he’s sleeping soundly, snuggling his blankets and mumbling cutely. You pet his head fluff without waking him up, whisper a “see you later, buddy”, and go to work.
>Eight hours later, you unsuspectingly open your apartment door.
>The first thing you notice is the stench of feces… and by “notice” you mean that you nearly vomit your lunch on the floor.
>Then you hear the crying. It’s low, soft, almost unintelligible. And it’s the most pathetic and moving thing you’ve ever heard.
>“N-nuuhuu… Why d-d-dahdeh go… I-Ichi no wan’ be awone a-again… No wan’ b-bwankie and bwockies and b-b-baww if dahdeh no hewe… Just wan’ dahdeh…”.
>You dart towards the playpen, a hand on your face. The playpen is smeared with fluffy shit and pee: the litterbox, the toys, the blankets… everything. And Ichi lies on his belly in the middle of the whole mess, his light blue fluff matted with poop and tears. “Wh-what happened here, Ichi?”, you gasp.
>He immediately stops crying and starts moving his head left and right, trying to find the direction of your voice. “D-dahdeh? Dahdeh come to Ichi?”.
> “Yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry, buddy, I should’ve told you I was going to work…”.
>The fluffy starts crying again. “S-s-sowwy, dahdeh, Ichi make bad poopies… Ichi scawed because dahdeh no hewe… Ichi sowwy, no put in sowwy box, p-pwease…”.
>You pet his mane, one of the only spots of him that is not shit-stained. “Sssh, sssh, don’t worry… I won’t punish you. It was my fault, after all…”.
>Ichi snivels a couple of times. “P-pwease, dahdeh, give huggies? Fwuffy no wan’ be awone no mo’…”.
>Ugh. You really like the little guy, but there’s no way you’re gonna hug him now. “Well… I’ll give you a bath, okay?”.
“Wha’ baff?”, he asks.
“I’ll show you in a moment. Now sit here and stand still, okay? Do it for daddy”. You pick Ichi up and deposit him on an old newspaper. “Otay dahdeh”, he replies.
>You start cleaning the filthy playpen, a peg on your nose. While scrubbing the shit from the floor and the walls, putting the dirty blankets in the washing machines, cleaning the toys and emptying the litterbox, you keep talking to the fluffy.
>Ichi just stays there, his blind eyes fixed at the wall in front of him; his ears are upright and perked, though, and he’s clearly listening to every word you say, even if you’re basically speaking random nonsense. “T-thankies, dahdeh…”, he murmurs, when you’ve finally finished cleaning the mess. “Ichi wuv dahdeh voice…”.
>Those four words warm your heart: the life of a fluffy is usually short, sad and miserable, and for a blind fluffy it’s even worse; the fact that you’re bringing him joy simply by talking to him is almost moving.
>“Time for your bath, buddy”. You put him in the bathtub, and he scampers around for a bit while you start filling the sink with warm water and shampoo. “Dis pwace stwange!”, he exclaims. “Hoofsies cowd an’ swipp’wy!”.
>You pick him up by his back fluff, trying to be as gentle as possible. “You have to be brave now, Ichi. Okay?”.
>“Otay dahdeh”. He starts trembling, but he doesn’t whine or cry, not even when you wash his matted fluff. He even starts having fun after a while, especially after he sniffles a couple of soap bubbles and keeps sneezing in the most adorable way. “Nice wawa smeww pwetty!”, he tells you with a wide smile on his muzzle.
>While you gently dry his fluff with an old cloth, you keep thinking about the crisis Ichi had and how could you solve the problem. Being blind, he must suffer loneliness several times more than the average fluffy (and as the girl at the shelter said, fluffies normally fear solitude a lot); you can’t risk getting another fluffy to keep him company, because the ones at the shelter bullied him and you don’t want to add a new trauma to the ones he already has.
>He said he likes the sound of your voice, though. Ichi needs something he can interact with when you’re not around, something that can speak with your voice, something that can’t possibly be mean to him… You look at the time. Great: the toy store should still be open.
>You give the now clean Ichi a long, tight hug. “Ichi, daddy must go to a certain place now. I promise I’ll be back really soon”, you quickly assure him when you notice he’s again on the verge of tears. “I must go and get you a friend so that you won’t be lonely anymore. Okay?”.
>He sniffles pathetically. “Ichi n-no wan otha fwuffy… Fwuffies meanie, no wet Ichi pway an’ sweep in fwuffpiwe…”.
>“Yeah, those fluffies were total assholes… um, I mean, they were really mean. But your new friend won’t be a fluffy pony… It will be a fluffy daddy!”.

>Half an hour later, you come home with a plastic bag in your hands. Ichi sits in his pen, a sad expression on his muzzle, but no tears – nor poopies – in sight. “Dahdeh?”, he asks, when he hears the sound of the front door closing.
>“Hey, Ichi”, you reply. “Wanna meet your new friend?”.
>He gives you a little smile. “Yay! New fwend fo’ Ichi!”, he happily chirps.
>You take the teddy bear out of the plastic bag: luckily, they had a light blue and green model available… Not that Ichi could see that they share the same colors anyway, but who cares. You carefully place the plush near the fluffy pony. “Here. Meet the fluffy daddy”, you tell Ichi.
>The blind pony carefully touches the teddy bear with one of his front hooves. “Fwuffy daddy haf’ soft fwuff!”.
>You nod. “The fluffy daddy will always be with you, even when I’m at work. He’ll always keep you company, and you can play with him and sleep with him as long as you want, and he doesn’t even have to eat or drink. Just keep him away from the litterbox and from poopies, because he doesn’t like them, okay?”.
>Ichi’s brow scrunches while he tries to assimilate the information you’ve just given him. “O-otay dahdeh”, he finally replies. “Ichi keep fwuffy dahdeh on beddie wif bwankies, otay?”.
>“You’re really smart, Ichi”, you compliment him, scratching him behind his ears. “Now why don’t you try and hug him?”.
>“Yay, huggies!”. He proceeds in clumsily holding the plush’s chest between his front hooves. And, the moment his chest conform with the teddy bear’s…
>“Daddy loves Ichi”
>“Fwuffy dahdeh haf’ dahdeh voice!”, Ichi is stunned by the sudden realization.
>“The fluffy daddy will speak to you every time you hug him, so be a nice friend and give him lots of hugs, okay?”, you explain to the pony.
>“Ichi gif wossa huggies!”, he joyfully replies, squeezing the teddy bear again.
>“Ichi is the best fluffy ever!”.
>A pressure-sensitive voice chip with sixteen randomly selected custom phrases? Best forty dollars you’ve spent this year.
>Next day, you make sure to tell Ichi you’re going to work, and when he starts to look depressed you remind him he has the “fluffy daddy” to keep him company. You gently squeeze the bear’s light blue belly.
>“Daddy will never let his Ichi alone”.
>Well… at least until the batteries run off, you can’t help thinking.
>Better keep a ready supply, just in case the fluffy daddy “loses its voice”.