My Fluffies and Me - Chapter 2: Nobody Home

CHAPTER 2 - NOBODY HOME

>“Okay, Pink, it’s done!”
>You admire your work. Well, you actually just tied a bow in your fluffy’s head fluff, but you can feel a pleasurable sensation pounding in your chest… Like a proud father seeing her teenage daughter in her prom dress.
>Okay, maybe comparing a teenage daughter with a fluffy pony is stretching things a little too much, but who cares.
>You hold a mirror for her to admire herself. “Look at you, Pink! You’re beautiful!”.
>She is.
>But she’s also dumb as usual.
>“Dahdeh, dere fwuffy in wittwe window! New fwend? Pink can pway wif?”
>Inevitable facepalm.
>“That’s not a new fluffy, Pink! It’s your reflection! It’s like… a picture of you, so you can see how pretty you are!”.
>She starts looking at the mirror – and at herself – in admiration, turning her head from side to side to have a better view of her bow while giggling and cooing at her reflection.
>“Pink biutifuw!”, she exclaims a couple of minutes later, hugging your chest. “Thankies dahdeh!”
>Heart: melt.
>Echoes, who was sleeping at the opposite side of the sofa, now comes trotting. “Sissy biutifuw”, he repeats, his little mouth open. He really seems taken aback by his new and improved sister, even if all you did was putting the bow in her hair…
>Guess the Malibu Stacy episode from when “The Simpsons” was still a good show was right, after all.
>“Thankies Echoes!”, Pink is hugging her brother tightly. “Echoes bes’ bruda eva!”.
>Not that Crazy Diamond would comply, if he was still there. Knowing him, he’s probably become the smarty friend of some herd by now.
>Echoes hugs the unicorn back; and when the hug is over, he lowers his muzzle and…
>OH HELL NO.
>“Sista smeww pwetty”
>You’ve just heard Echoes’ first “original” sentence. And it was a compliment paid to his sister’s vagina.
>Pink Floyd giggles. She seems pleased. She seems way too pleased, actually.
>Don’t you dare, you think.
>She does: she lowers her head, starts shaking her backside towards Echoes and she even says in an inviting tone: “Happy pwace feew gud!”
>You immediately intervene grabbing the two of them, before Echoes can try and stick his “happy pwace” inside Pink’s pussy.
>Sorry, but no incestuous fluffies under your roof.
>They both look at you, surprised. “Wha’ daddy do?”, Pink asks.
>I’m trying to prevent you and your brother fucking.
>Nah, can’t say that.
>“We’re… going to aunt Audrey’s house”.
>Echoes beams at you. “Aun’ Audwey!”
>“Aun’ Audwey awways gif chokwit to gud fwuffies!”, Pink exclaims, waving her front hooves excitedly. She may be a bit slow, but she never forgets people who give her chocolate.
>Let’s hope Aud is at home, you think a couple of minutes later while nervously knocking at your neighbour’s door, Pink Floyd sitting in your arms and Echoes scampering around your feet.
>Luckily, you hear the clattering of keys from inside the house, and a couple of seconds later Audrey opens the door. Echoes immediately runs at her and hug her shin, while Pink tries to do the same while saying “Aun’ Audwey! Pwease hug Pink! Pink gud fwuffy!”.
>“Hey Aud… Sorry to barge in”
>She looks at you with a shining smile on her plump face. “Hi, Arnie! Don’t worry, I was just wasting time in front of the TV”. She takes Pink in her arms, and the fluffy hugs back.
>“Wuv aun’ Audwey! Aun’ Audwey haf chokwit?”.
>Audrey grins. “Maybe…”.
>“So… Michelle isn’t home, I presume”, you tell her.
>She pulls a disgusted face. “She’s having lunch with the Wrinkled Bitch”.
>You smirk. The “Wrinkled Bitch” is Sandra, Michelle’s mother. She’s not that wrinkled, actually… She’s totally MILF material. But, yeah, she’s also a first-class bitch. And she – and that’s an understatement – doesn’t like her, well, “daughter-in-law” (a hate that is gleefully reciprocated). “I’m sorry”.
>The woman shrugs. “No big deal”. She then looks at you with a malicious glint in her eyes. “So… who’s the lucky girl?”
>“What do you mean?”.
>“Oh, come on, you always bring your fluffies here when you want to, y’know… get frisky”
>You can’t help blushing a little. “U-uhm, well… Actually, it’s about sex, but…”. You lower your voice so that the fluffies can’t hear you. “Those two were, well… trying to ‘special hug’ each other, you know…”.
>Audrey’s mouth is a surprised O. She seems imbarassed too, now. “Ooh… I s-see… What d’you plan to do?”.
>Your turn to shrug. “I’m going to the fluffy shelter to find a girlfriend for Echoes, I guess. Could you keep an eye on them ‘til I come back?”.
>Audrey giggles. “Roger”. Then she looks at the two fluffies and says, raising her voice. “So… who wants some chocolate chip cookies?”
>Echoes attempts a funny little dance around the woman’s feet. “Chokwit chip cookiz! Chokwit chip cookiz!”. You wave at Pink and tell her to be a good fluffy, then start walking towards the fluffy shelter.
>The place in question is not very far away, just fifteen minutes by walk from your house. You hope they’ll be able to provide a spayed mare, because you’re not sure if you want to deal with a litter of fluffy foals…
>“…y mommy no wake u…”
>Wait, what?
>You stop walking. You’re pretty certain you’ve just heard something.
>Something that sounded like the wail of a fluffy pony.
>“…p-pwease mommy, fwuffy wan’ wuv, wan’ hugg…”.
>You look around, nervously. It’s lunch time, so nobody is around. It’s the middle of October and the weather is chilly, but the fluffy is not complaining about the cold, so he or she must be inside one of the houses or at least in a warm place… You listen closely, trying to find the source of the cries…
>“…nuuu-huu-huu… why mommy no wuv… pwease…”.
>The house on your left. The fluffy must be inside it.
>While you walk to the front door and knock, you remember the owner of the house: a small, polite old woman you sometimes saw trimming her rosebushes.
>“Hey? Someone’s here?”
>No answer. Inside, the pony keeps wailing and calling her “mommy”.
“Ms…”. What was her surname again? “Ms. Hartman? May I come in?”.
>Still no answer.
>You try and turn the handle. The door opens slowly, the hinges squeaking.
>You can’t help to feel a little creeped out by the whole situation… But the heartbreaking whimpers of the fluffy help you pull yourself together.
“Ms. Hartman? Are you home?”.
>Still no answer.
>Oh, what the hell, you think, stepping inside.
>The house is clearly inhabited by an old woman: it’s literally cramped with old, solid wooden furniture, pictures hanging at the walls and knick-knacks scattered everywhere. The fluffy is beyond the closed door on your left, and you open it readily, finding a small living room.
>The first thing you notice is the pegasus on the armchair. She – because her voice sounds very similar to Pink Floyd’s – has cyan fluff and chocolate brown mane and tail; her wings are buzzing uncontrollably on her back, and she’s repeatedly, desperately hugging…
>You barely refrain yourself from vomiting on the carpet.
>Ms. Hartman’s corpse is sitting on the armchair in a rigid posture, a serene look on her face; you can tell she died without even realizing it. Her body hasn’t started smelling , so she probably passed away just some hours ago.
>You take a couple of trembling steps towards the armchair. The fluffy finally notices your presence and looks at you: horrible situation notwithstanding, you can see she has the deepest, most beautiful purple eyes you’ve ever seen on a fluffy. “P-pwease, mistah, hewp… M-mommy no wake upsies…”.
>You take the mare in your arms, your throat a hard, painful knot. She squirms, trying to escape your grasp. “Nuuu-huu-huu! P-pwease mistah, wet go! Puwpwe mus’ hug mommy! M-mommy need Puwpwe! Puwpwe gif wuv and huggies, huggies m-make ev’wyfin’ bettah…”.
>You just stand there, the fluffy tiring herself out in your grip, and the only thing you can think of is that you’ve never been so close to a corpse, not even when your grandfather died.
>At last, the pegasus stops her feeble attempts of hugging her dead owner and just hiccups and whimpers in your hand. You hug her tightly, tears falling from your and her eyes. “I’m sorry, girl… I’m so sorry…”, you whisper, weakly petting her head fluff.
>The two of you cry for some long minutes. Then, the pegasus still hugging you, you pick up the telephone receiver and call an ambulance.

>The man in front of you wears a peerless gray suit and the look in his eyes tells you he’d want to be anywhere but here. He quietly scratches his forehead, before talking: he looks embarrassed, more than sad. He holds out his perfectly manicured right hand. “Ned Hartman”
>You reciprocate the handshake. “Arnold Layne. But… just call me Arnie”.
>The paramedics had already taken Ms… well, Mrs. Hartman’s body to the obituary and departed after the standard words of condolences, leaving you two there. And by “you two” you mean yourself and the fluffy mare, still asleep in your arms; she must’ve been awake since the death of her owner, crying and hugging her non-stop. She didn’t make a single “bad poopie”, though: she must have been trained really well.
>But back on topic. Turned out Mrs. Hartman had a son and a daughter: you called the latter first, but both her home phone and her cell phone kept ringing with no one answering. Twenty minutes later, you managed to contact the son; he sounded really busy, but promised you he was gonna be there in an hour.
>Took him two hours and a half to finally show up.
>Ned’s eyes nervously dart around the living room. “I’m… I’m really sorry for making you wait”.
>You shrug. “No big deal”.
>It’s not like I had other things to do, you fucking asshole. Also, for Christ’s sake, your mother’s dead! At least show some emotion!, you think.
>“S-so, Arnie… How did you discover the… well…”. He’s visibly struggling with the words.
>“Your mother?”.
>“Y-yes, my… my mother”
>You nod towards the fluffy sleeping in your arms. “It was all thanks to her. I was walking in front of your house and I heard her crying”. You look at the man in the eyes. “She never left your mother’s side until I found her. She kept trying to wake her up, she didn’t even eat nor sleep…”. Well, you can’t be sure about that, but who cares?
>So? How does it feel to be beaten in loving your own mother by a bio-engineered pet?, you think.
>Ned sighs. He’s a big man – six feet three, maybe – but he seems awfully small and pitiful now. “It was Lily… my twin sister’s idea. To give my mother a fluffy as a present last Christmas, I mean. She was always complaining about being alone, so we thought that she could, um, use some company, and…”. Ned stares at your feet in silence for a couple of seconds. “I… I don’t even know why I’m telling all this to a complete stranger”.
>He doesn’t stop talking, though.
>“You see, me and Lily have never really close to our mother, especially since our father died. We called her once a week, we came here for Christmas with our families… And that’s all. I guess it could happen to everyone, right?”. Another sigh. “My sister’s neighbour has a couple of fluffies; last November they had a litter, and she was trying to find someone to adopt them, so she said ‘Hell, why not?’”.
>Ned picks up a silver frame from the small table beside the armchair where his mother died; he stares at the photo inside it with heavy eyes. “Look at them. They seem… happy”.
>In the picture, Mrs. Hartman is sitting in her armchair, Purple on her lap. The pegasus is beaming at the camera and waving one of her front hooves; the old woman has a quiet, melancholic smile on her face, but one of her hands rests on her pet’s fluff and her eyes shine of a small, secret joy.
>“Yeah”, you answer. “They are happy”.
Ned’s free hand gently brushes the mane of Purple. She coos in her sleep, gently. “She must have loved her very much”.
>You frown. He’s not embarrassed, you suddenly think. He feels… guilty. “Well, fluffies were artificially built to love humans. It’s their first directive, so to speak. But Purple stood at your mother’s side for nearly a day, hugging her, trying to wake her up and make her feel better… So yeah, I guess that’s love for you”.
>Ned’s lips curve in the faintest of smiles. “I… I’m glad mom had something… someone”. He puts emphasis on the word, and you also notice this is the first time he has referred to his mother as “mom”. “…with her when she passed away”. He pets Purple once more. “To think that it was so easy for her to tell mom that she loved her… I should’ve tried to do that more often too”. The man looks at you, and you can see his eyes are watery. “D’you… By any chance now someone that could take care of her? My apartment has a no-pet policy, and I don’t want to just, y’know… drop her at a shelter…”.
>You are a much better person I thought you were, Mr. Hartman, you think, before answering. “Well, I already have a couple of fluffies and I was searching for a new playmate for them, so…”.
>Ned nods and offers you a business card. “Don’t hesitate to call me, should she ever need to go to the vet. I’ll be happy to pay her medical expenses”.
>Hartman & Crane – Law Firm, the business card says, followed by a London address and phone number. He must really have a shitload of money, you think. “Thanks”.
>Ned shakes his head. “I’m the one that should thank you. And her”. He nods at Purple, that’s now moaning something unintelligible in her sleep.
>”Huh? And for what?”.
>He looks at the photo still in his hands. “For… for this, I guess”.

When you arrive at Audrey’s house, she just gives you Pink and Echoes back, a sad expression on her face: you phoned her from Mrs. Hartman’s house while waiting for Ned to arrive. “I’ll call you later”, she whispers before closing the door.
>“Why Pink haf’ go back to daddy house?”. The unicorn has a grumpy expression on her little muzzle. “Pink wan’ mo’ Aun’ Audwey chocwit cookiz!”.
>“Don’t be a glutton, Pink”, you tell her while opening your front door. “Or you’ll become a fluffy pig”.
>”Fwuffy pig, fwuffy pig!”, Echoes chants in response.
>”Nuuuuuu! Pigs not pwetty!”.
>You put the two fluffies in front of the door of the safe room and clear your throat. They look at you quizzically. “There’s something important I have to tell you. There’s a new friend in the safe room now…”.
>Echoes and Pink start cheering and hugging each other like they won the Fluffy Lottery. “Yay! New fwend! Wan’ meet new fwend an’ gif huggies!”.
>You clear your throat again. “Yeah, but before you meet her you have to listen to what I have to say: this new friend is very sad now, because she have just lost her mother. You’ll have to give her lots of hugs and love, but if she doesn’t want to play with you, you don’t have to force her or call her a bad fluffy. Okay?”.
>Surprisingly, they both just nod.
>Purple was still sleeping on Echoes’ blanket, but she wakes up the moment you open the door, staring at you with her really beautiful, really sad eyes. “W-whev’ Puwpwe…”.
>You smile at her. “This is your new home. I’ll be your daddy from now on, and they’ll be your friends”. As if they were waiting for your signal, Echoes and Pink trot towards Purple, hugging her tightly.
>”Dahdeh say Puwpwe wose mommy. Echoes vewy sowwy” , the stallion whispers, his head buried in the cyan fluff. Purple sniffles a couple of times, but hugs back.
>”Fwend lose mommy? Wan’ Pink help find?”
>You sigh, patting Pink’s head fluff. “I’m sorry, girl, but Purple’s mommy, she… went to another place. A place very far away, where we can’t go”.
>”Mo’ fa’ away dan supamakit?”.
>”Yes, even more far away than the supermarket”.
>“Oh”. Pink seems to ponder on the gravity of the news, then she hugs her new friend again. “Pink sowwy fo’ Puwpwe wose mommy. Pink no can hewp fin’ mommy, bu’ know heawty-ouchies when dahdeh go away… Pink can gif huggies, make feew betta”.
>You look at the three fluffies bonding and cuddling for several minutes, then you decide to leave them alone so that Purple could get used to her new home; when you’re opening the door of the safe room, however, you feel a tug on your shin. You look down and meet two pleading amethyst eyes. “Pwease, mistah… Can hewp Puwpwe no fowget mommy? Puwpwe no wan’ fowget…”.
>You’re momentarily taken aback by the question. She somehow understands that a fluffy’s memory is weak as best, and that she’ll eventually forget her previous owner... But she wants to remember it. That’s some tough reasoning, for a fluffy.
>But how can you help Purple not forget her mommy? Usually, when you want to teach fluffies something, the key is repetition, or a constant reminder…
>Wait, a constant reminder?
>”Leave it to me, Purple!”, you tell her with an encouraging smile.
>She beams back at you. “Thankies… dahdeh”. Then she waddles towards Echoes and Pink to play ball with them.
>While closing the safe door room behind you, you retrieve the cell phone and the business card from one of your pockets. “Hello, Mr. Hartman? It’s Arnold Layne… yeah, the guy from this afternoon. Sorry for bothering you, but there’s a huge favour I have to ask you…”.

>“Wha’ dat, dahdeh?”, Echoes asks, pointing with one of his front hooves at what you just hung up at one of the walls of the safe room, low enough for the fluffies to see but high enough so that they won’t try to eat it by mistake or spray it with feces.
>Purple is staring at the picture – a copy of the very same picture of Mrs. Hartman and her fluffy that was in her house –  with big, watery eyes. “Dat Puwpwe mommy!”. She sounds moved, but happy.
>Pink looks at the photograph, frowning in concentration. “Puwpwe mommy nice hooman!”, she happily concludes.
>You smile at them, pointing at the wall. “From now on, this will be the memory wall. Do you know what a memory is?”.
>”Maybe memowy nummies?”
>”No, Pink, a memory is not something that you can eat”. But, yeah, explaining what a memory is to your fluffies can be tricky. “A memory is… something that you want to remember. It can be something happy or something sad”. You pet Purple and she smiles at you, but she’s deeply focused on the photograph. “Maybe even something that give you hearty-ouchies, but still… something that you can’t never forget”.
>You pick up the cyan pegasus, lifting her at the same height of the picture. She extends a hoof, placing it near Mrs. Hartman’s face. It’s like she’s trying to caress her.
>Or giving her a goodbye.
>“No fowget”, she tells you, staring at you with her amazing eyes, filled with joy, sadness and gratitude.
>”Yeah”, you say. “We’ll never forget her”.