Fluffy

It all began way before the turtle named Fluffy, but I can't pin point a direct moment, so I will start here. Fluffy a tiny little turtle bought on a trip to Brooklyn NY to surprise my son. I didn’t name him Fluffy directly, but I knew in my mind what my then 3 year old son would name the creature. He has in our life tried to name several of the creatures that have come to live and then die in our house Fluffy. He had a slight Justin Beiber fascination that his father killed, quickly (although he is still allowed to listen to his music), and since has named everything Fluffy. Okay by me, one less name to remember. This Fluffy the turtle survived for quite a while, we learned he had a love of freshly killed bugs, so we fed him these in great abundance. And then one morning I went to get my morning or midmorning…whatever afternoon drink and I caught my husband throwing Fluffys habitat in the garbage. What the hell? And he replied, the turtles dead Tershia.

My son was away for the night, and I thought well how the hell am I going to tell him that yet another creature has died. I guess this is the point where I should stop and explain our track record with pets. Before Fluffy my husband bought me a kitten he rescued from the humane society for Christmas. Just about 30 days after I had my daughter, another ass to clean, thanks! This cat, because the creature could not be called a kitten had a bad habit of shitting everywhere. One of his favorite spots, my brand new babies’, brand new crib. His ending spot was our downstairs neighbors stove…needless to say he didn’t last too long. Before him Cookie Bunny, another one named by my son, she lasted awhile until she went to my parents’ house to stay and met her death. Did I mention we are a family of murderers?

Before Cookie Bunny my parents have had several cats hit by cars, each one my son names, each one meets it death, and we like good American parents lie like assholes to our child so he doesn’t have to think about death, and so we didn’t have to explain it.

After my son killed our fish Beiber Fever by feeding him all of his food at once, and then watched me flush him down the toilet. I didn’t think that sugar coating death would really work any longer. The fish lasted a whole of two days, and when I found him dead on the table with my son gazing into his bowl with pride in his eyes. I stated he’s dead Zaryus, you fucking killed him. I have a tendency to curse in conversation with my son, and because of this he has a tendency to talk like me when he thinks I am not listening. Dead he responded. Dead, let’s flush him down the toilet before dad comes home.

So when I picked Zaryus up on the morning of Fluffys demise in a somber voice I said to him. Zaryus, Fluffy is dead. Dead? Yes, your dad got rid of him. He of course wanted to know where, and I said the garbage, he said this would make the house stink, and I said his dad took the garbage out. Dead? The car was quiet and then my son probably the most logical four year old I know said, well mom we had a bunny who died, a cat who shit all in Zoeys bed so he had to go, a fish who I killed, and now Fluffys dead. Yes dead. Well he responded after pondering death, life, shitting in bed cats. So do you think we could go get another fish?