Fluffy Kitty

by s. banuana

the following is a true story.

fluffy — or "fea," or "fea farrah," if one of us was feeling snuggly — was my nonnie's cat. (may god rest her soul.) no one can produce proof that fluffy was ever a kitten. fluffy was HUGE; at least 30 pounds if she was an ounce. actually, fluffy was a boy, i am just now remembering.

by the time we grandkids came into the picture, fluffy was around 15 years old. fluffy was a lot like nonnie: zaftig, proud, sociable, understanding of our stupid, sticky, little-kid ways of exploring the world of that double-wide trailer on stilts that my grandpa had built in the woods of south carolina. fluffy even let you hold him while you spun around in the big orange chair, though he threw up on janessa rose one time.

but time marched on. janessa got really tall. i turned really inward. nonnie's bar burned down. the trailer started to deteriorate. garlic gus broke. (that was the hardest.) and we'd lost track of fluffy's age, but he must have been about 26, which is pretty old for a cat. or me.

toward the end--during which he was surrounded with love and felt no pain, i want to tell you--fluffy had some problems hitting the target area of the litter box. he'd sort of spray all over the place.

so nonnie, ever practical having raised 7 kids, covered one of the wood-paneled walls top to bottom with aluminum foil. the design funnelled into the box. so fluffy's dignity was spared.

and at night, the sweet, old kitty made a sound like rain on a tin rooftop.

Fluffy Muff

by rebenga

have you ever groomed your muff as though it was your crowning glory? lather, rinse, repeat with your favorite volumizing shampoo. rinsing well is an important step as no one enjoys a filmy, soapy residue on their locks. careful with your water temperature - too hot can scald! then follow with a bit of some light but moisturizing creme rinse. just a tiny bit though, and again, rinse well - or your tresses will be limp and lifeless!

dry off with a freshly laundered towel, taking care to blot the lingering moisture between your toes, behind your ears, as well as all of your body's other lovely crevices. next on to your hair dryer - the wide, air-diffusing models are best to gently dry and give your mane body and life. blow-dry carefully, moving the nozzle around constantly to avoid getting frizzies.

when you're nice and dry and ready, slip into some lacy underthings, pull on your going-out togs, and head into the great wide world. the pleasure and delight is that no one knows you're hiding something quite so motherfucking fluffy under your skirt!

Fluffy Pillow

by Sherman

My sister-in-law gave me a fluffy pillow for christmas. A fluffy day-glo acid green pillow the size for putting on a couch. It's really more hairy than fluffy because the fluff is longish like hair, it's directional. I find that when fluff is long enough to have a direction it seems more like it was alive once. It could have been yak fur if the yak were day-glo acid green. Maybe it was a raving yak, a yak from the planet where yaks like to dance. My new dancing yak fur pillow is a conversation piece. Visitors who sit on my couch feel compelled to comment on the pillow. The comments are usually positive. "What a cool pillow!" is typical or "I've always wanted a fluffy pillow." "Where did you get it?" is also common. It's hard not to like such a jolly pillow. A visitor will stroke it, squeeze it, and rub it on his face. Then i tell him it comes from the hide of a dancing yak and he puts it down again, pretty quickly. He casually rubs his hands back and forth on his pant-leg and asks where the bathroom is. While he's in the bathroom i smooth my pillow's ruffled fur and set it back in its corner where it waits quietly for the next admirer.

Poopy Fluffy

by bobbay

We had a dog named fluffy. she was a medium-sized poodle who basically just hid under the couch and barked like a maniac whenever anyone came to the door.

you don't realize what disgusting animals poodles are when you see the gay men walking the really well-coiffed ones through dupont, wholefoods bag at the ready to get fluffy's elegant little doodoos.

our fluffy used to shit all on the floor. never really got the hang of waiting to get outdoors to make the solids. nasty ass and you wouldn't believe that it came from a medium-sized dog. they fed those animals real meat, like hamburger and shit. looking back, i suspect that was part of the problem.

when fluffy got older, and too arthritic to handle as many regular haircuts that were never really that regular to begin with, the shit would collect in the hair around fluffy's asshole. ah, poor fluffy looked a little matted there in the end.

Fluffy Victorious

by SuSuBelle

She had challenged the 3,000 pounds of books and defeated them--they lay packed in their identical 12 x 12 x 16 inch boxes, fulminating at the ease with which they were vanquished. Her mother's china and her husband's great-aunt's antique blue-and-white porcelain were no match for her either. She bustled around the house, tenderly enshrouding the forest-green foo dogs in bubble wrap, enfolding the ceramic bull from e*Bay and the stained-glass rooster lamp in clouds of tissue paper, rolling up rugs and loading the truck with cast-offs bound for the Salvation Army. But the feather beds and comforters whipped her — it wasn't even close. She found herself nearly standing on her head in a tall box, sobbing, as she tried to crush the fluffy, feathery masses to the bottom. It was no use — the second she released them, they simply inhaled — and expanded to overflow the box. It's true — nature, and down, abhor a vacuum.

Revenge of Fluffy

by chairman meow

By night the hundred small dogs appeared like a river of ice chunks, glowing in the moonlight, flowing down the mountainside, through pine forests and meadows. Their tiny legs made two hundred swiftly snipping scissors, joined together with the singularity of their purpose. To kill.

Fluffy didn't like daddy's new girlfriend. Tisha made Fluffy get off the couch. She glared at Fluffy while pulling hairs off her sweater. She took Fluffy's place in bed.

Up ahead, the house had finally become visible. A lamp shone in the den, where daddy's new girlfriend would be watching television. Fluffy led the quiet panting pack of Bichon Frises. Goodbye, Tisha!