Luck

FractalFluff, September 16, 2014; 07:16 / FB 25853
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Luck

You're a fluffy. The best fluffy!
Your human Mummah tells you so.
Your name is Medowsweet. Mummah calls you Medow or sometimes Sweetie.
You have soft, pretty yellow fluff, and your silky mane and tail are pure white, just like your Mummah's funny human mane.
Mummah loves to stroke and pet your fluff as you sit on her lap, watching the big shiny TV together.

You live in a nice housie with nice things.
Your housie is always clean and smells pretty.
You have a cosy saferoom all of your own, with a warm, snuggly blankie on your bed and lots of fun toys to play with.
There's a bowl for nummies and a bottle for wawa.
And a litterbox for not-pretties, which you mostly use.
Unless you're cross with Mummah, or having too much fun with your ball to stop playing.
If you poop somewhere else, Mummah gives you a sad look and says, "Oh, Medow," in a sad voice, but nothing else happens.
You just tell her it was an "ack see dint", and she nods sadly and cleans up.

The rest of the housie is nice too, full of lovely things that are Mummah's and not for touching.
Some of the things are like big human cups and have flowers in, and those are called Vawses.
Some of the things are like dollies, but they are not for huggies. They are called Stachoo Ets.
You have lots of pretty, pretty dollies and stuffy friends, so you don't mind that Mummah's dollies are for looking at.
You only touch them when you're cross with Mummah, like when you get kibble and not sketties, or Mummah doesn't have time to play.
If you touch them hard enough, they sometimes fall down and go in bits.
Then Mummah is sad, and remembers to give you sketties next time.

Sometimes, when you watch TV with Mummah, you see humans who don't live in nice housies with nice things. Some of them don't have housies at all!

"Why dat mistah nu haf housie wike Mummah an' Fwuffy?" you ask.

"Well, because he isn't really a very nice person, Sweetie," Mummah tells you. "If he really wanted a nice house, he'd work harder."

And sometimes you also see fluffies who don't live in nice housies; they live in a scary place called a Shelpa or an even scarier one called an Alley.

"Whewe dat fwuffy's mummah?" you ask.

"She doesn't have a mummy, dear," says Mummah. "Just her fluffy mother. Fluffies like that don't get to have human mummies or daddies."

"Why she nu get mummah?" you say, aghast at the thought. A fluffy without a human? That's just wrong.

"It's probably because she's a naughty fluffy, Sweetie. You're a good girl, so you get to have a Mummah and live in a nice house."

That all sounds about right to you. You're a nice fluffy with a nice Mummah, so you both get to live in a nice house and have nice things. You beam up at Mummah, and she smiles down at you, and everything is good and nice and as it should be.

One day, you have an "ak see dint" while playing blockies. This time, though, Mummah doesn't say "Oh, Medow," and give you a sad look. She doesn't see the poopies, and steps in them. The saferoom floor is made of shiny stuff like the kitchen floor, and the poopies make it slippy. Instead of "Oh, Medow," Mummah says, "Wahhh!" and starts to wave her arms. The foot that's not slipping in poopies lands on your ball, and then Mummah is on the floor.

"Mummah?" you say. "Mummah?"

Mummah doesn't say anything. Her eyes are open, so she's not having sleepies, but she doesn't get up. There was a very big CRACK when she fell downsies; can you break Mummahs? You give her huggies for make better, but they don't seem to work. You try stomping your hoofsie and shouting in your crossest voice, but that doesn't work either. You don't know what else to do, so you keep giving huggies. They make you feel a bit better even if they don't help Mummah.

It's several forevers before Mummah's friends come and find you. You get put in a boxie. Mummah goes in a funny sleeping bag on a wheelie-table, and then she goes out of the door. It's very confusing. You shout questions, but nobody's listening.

Your boxie gets picked up and put down a lot of times, and then you're taken to a new, different housie. You recognise it: this is Rick and Janice's housie. Janice is Mummah's growed-up human foal, and Rick is Janice's special friend. You've stayed here once or twice while Mummah was away. Janice never wanted to play with you, but Rick was fun.

Rick and Janice are having shouties. Well, mostly Janice is being shouty. You can't hear all of what they're saying because you're in the downstairs loo with the door shut, but you can hear some.

"...bring that thing here for?" shouts Janice. "It as good as murdered my mother!"

"Janice, she's just a fluffy. She couldn't have known what might happen. We can't just abandon her..."

"I want that FUCKING shit-rat OUT OF MY HOUSE!" shouts Janice, even louder. "Get it out NOW! If it stays here another minute, I'll —"

"It's okay, it's okay," Rick says. "I'll take her down to the shelter if you feel that strongly. Do you —?"

"Just go, Rick," says Janice.

Rick comes in and picks up your boxie. "I'm sorry, girl," he says sadly, "but it looks like you can't stay here. Come on."

You ask where you're going, but Rick doesn't say anything. You ask again, and he tells you not to worry and gives you a treat. Then you start to have a vroom-vroom ride, but the treat has somehow made it be sleepytime.

When you wake up, you're not in your boxie anymore. You're in a different, bigger boxie. There's no beddie, just flakes of woody stuff, and no nummies bowl. Metal lines stop you getting out. The wawa bottle is tied to the lines, on the outside with its poky bit poking in.

"Mummah?" you say. A human comes over, but it's not Mummah. It's a young mister with a short brown mane.

"Finally slept it off, have you?" asks the mister. He makes the metal lines go away and takes you out of the boxie, which is good; but he does it by pulling your neck-fluffs, which is very bad!

"Owwie!" you squeal. "Owwie, owwie! Nu wike meanie upsies! Gif downsies!"

The meanie mister just laughs. "Come on. The doc'll want to see you before you go in with the general population."

You're taken to a different room and put on a cold metal table. Lots of meanie things happen, one after the other, very quickly. You get worstest squeezies round your belly that make you go poopies, you get lots of pointy-owwies and your legs are pulled and your mouthie gets opened up when you don't want it to and your special place gets peeked at and you get a De Lowsin, which is the meaniest washies ever! And when it's all done you're shivering and huuhuuing and making give-huggies leggies, but you don't get huggies! Just more meanie upsies!

The upsies end with you being dropped into a big sort of open boxie place with some other fluffies. Some are nice and say "nyu fwend?" and come to hug you, but some of them look super-mean. Aghast, you realize that these are... these are no-mummah fluffies!

You look up at the mister. "Mistah! Nu put Fwuffy hewe! Medowswee' am gud Fwuffy, nu gu wif bad nu-mummah fwuffies. Dey bad an ugwy an nu-nice! Am nice! Get nice housie, nice Mummah!"

The mister, who'd started to turn away, looks back. "You what?"

You explain more slowly. "Mister, Fwuffy am gud an nice Fwuffy. Wive wif gud an nice Mummah tiww Mummah get owwies. Mummah am gud an nice, su get good an nice housie. Fwuffy am gud an nice, su get gud an nice Mummah." You smile hopefully. He reaches down and gives you more meanie upsies by your neck-fluff, staring into your face.

"So what you reckon is, your mum was this good person, and that's why she got to live in a nice house? And you're this good fluffy, and that's why you got to live with her?"

You're trying not to squeal or huuhuu, but you manage to stammer out: "yuh-yuh-yeh?"

"Hmm. Sounds to me more like dumb luck. Sounds like your mum was a lucky old bag, and you were a lucky little shit-rat."

"Huh?"

"Luck. Dumb luck. Means you got something nice, and you didn't do anything to deserve it. Plenty of humans are kinder and smarter than your mum sounds, but they don't get to die in a big house with a flash pet." He nods towards the pen." Plenty of fluffies in there that are nicer than you. But they never got to have the good life, see, because they didn't get lucky."

"Buh-buh-buh... bu' Fwuffy neeeee' Mummah! Neeee' nice housie! Nee' bwockies an beddie an stuffy fwens an teebee-pickshuwes!"

He just drops you back into the big box-place. The scary no-mummah fluffies begin to crowd around you again, looking less friendly now. "Sorry, shit-rat," the mister says as he walks away. "Your luck just ran out."

-end-