In any event, this fuzzy seemed friendly and trusting of Holloway and Carl, mostly, Holloway assumed, because Papa Fuzzy was friendly and trusting with them. Holloway, in a burst of no creativity whatsoever, called this one Mama Fuzzy.
Next up in the fuzzy hierarchy was the gray fuzzy who was as large as Papa Fuzzy, but was a bit more stout and perhaps a step or two slower, both in speed and, it seemed to Holloway, in the brains department. This fuzzy was affectionate toward Mama Fuzzy but in a different way from Papa Fuzzy. If Holloway had to guess, he’d say that this fuzzy was Mama Fuzzy’s own father, given how they acted and responded to each other. Again, a complete supposition on Holloway’s part; it might be that he used to be Mama Fuzzy’s mate before Papa Fuzzy came around, and now he was accepting some sort of secondary role. The ways of fuzzy society were a blank to Holloway, truth be told. Regardless, he found himself tagging this third animal as Grandpa Fuzzy.
Part of the reason Holloway found himself referring to Grandpa Fuzzy that way revolved around what appeared to be Grandpa’s primary job, which was herding the final two fuzzys and keeping them in line. These two fuzzys were smaller and acted younger—more impulsive and heedless, as exemplified by the tendency of one of them to go up to Carl and jump on his back, attempting to ride the dog like a noble steed. Carl did not appreciate this and at one point nipped the fuzzy. The fuzzy batted the dog on the nose and then ran squealing, thrilled, as Carl tried to eat him. Holloway figured this one had to be the fuzzy equivalent of a teenage boy. His fur was blotchy patches of gray and black on white. Holloway called him Pinto.
The final fuzzy, golden and color-pointed like Mama Fuzzy, was as high spirited as Pinto but less obnoxious about it. Rather than trying to ride Carl, she would pet him and groom him and try to hug him whenever possible. Carl was a good sport about this but found it only slightly less trying than being ridden; it appeared that even this most gregarious of dogs eventually needed his own space. When that happened, Carl would gently shake off this last fuzzy and retreat to the cabin; his dog door was still keyed to his radio transmitter, so the fuzzys couldn’t get through without his permission. He’d slip through the door and hide for an hour or two.
This littlest fuzzy did not seem offended or upset by the abandonment. She would simply turn her attentions to Holloway and whatever it was he was doing at the moment. She was not as affectionate to Holloway as she was to Carl but would stand close to him and pick up the objects he was working on or with. Holloway made a note to himself never to try to do a jigsaw puzzle with this particular creature around. For all that, he found her pleasant company and, frankly, adorable. He started to call her Baby Fuzzy.
Papa, Mama, Grandpa, Pinto, and Baby—they made a cozy little family unit. Holloway couldn’t decide whether he had adopted them or whether it was the other way around. Actually he suspected that the family had adopted Carl, and that he was just sort of a bonus: the best darn butler a little fuzzy ever had. Holloway found this idea unaccountably amusing, which was perhaps one of the reasons he had accepted the invasion of his home and life by the little creatures in the first place.
Which was not to say there were not adjustments.
Holloway experienced the first of these the morning after the Fuzzys had climbed down out of the trees. Holloway had woken up with a monumental backache; after a few seconds he realized it was because he was twisted like a pretzel in his cot.
The cause for this was four of the five fuzzys unequally distributed across his blanket, including one Grandpa, much to his consternation, hogging his pillow and snoring lightly in his face. While he was asleep, Carl had let the Fuzzys into the house and they had climbed into bed with him, and Holloway shifted in his sleep to give them room, resulting in his current contortionist position.
Holloway raised his head off the pillow and saw Carl lying on the floor next to the cot. Baby Fuzzy had nuzzled into his side and was sighing contentedly in her sleep. Carl didn’t look terribly comfortable, either. He noticed Holloway looking at him and gave him a look with his eyebrows that said, Sorry, man. I didn’t know.
“Idiot,” Holloway said, and then dropped his head back down on the pillow.
Later Holloway was trying to work out the kinks in his muscles with a hot shower in the cabin’s tiny lavatory when Baby Fuzzy pulled aside the curtain and got her first glimpse of naked, soap-covered man.
“Do you mind,” Holloway said, mildly. He was not an exhibitionist, but being watched by a fuzzy while he showered didn’t trigger any modesty concerns. It was like your cat watching you while you got dressed.
Baby turned her head and squeaked. Five seconds later, four other heads peeked into the shower, watching the funny hairless thing doing its incomprehensible water ritual. Now Holloway felt vaguely uncomfortable.
“Are you taking notes?” Holloway said, to his audience. “You could all use one of these, you know. You don’t smell as adorable as you look. Especially you,” he said, motioning to Grandpa. “I woke up smelling your furry ass. You need an intervention, my friend.”
Carl poked his head into the shower, as if to see what he was missing. Holloway turned the nozzle on the lot of them and smirked as they scattered.
Breakfast was likewise an experience. The Fuzzys, sitting on the kitchen table, appeared to be bored with their bindi and were far more interested in the massive sandwich Holloway was making for himself.
“Don’t even think it,” Holloway said to them, as he spread the mayo and mustard on his bread slices. He held up a slice to show them. “You see this? In a week it’ll be gone. Then I get no more bread until I go back into town a month from now. Therefore: My bread. Not yours.”
They all stared at the bread, entranced, including Carl.
“Besides, this is an all-Earth sandwich,” Holloway continued, not caring that they couldn’t understand him any more than Carl could when he spoke to him. “Wheat bread. Mayonnaise. Mustard. Smoked turkey.” He placed said turkey on the bread, and then reached for the cheese. “Swiss cheese. It would probably kill you or rupture your intestines or something else absolutely horrible. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor eating it myself. That’s the sort of selfless person I am.” He closed the sandwich on itself and turned to put the ingredients back into the storage cooler.
When he turned back, Pinto was standing in front of him, eyes imploring.
“Nice try,” Holloway said. “But you’re not the cute one.” He picked up the sandwich.
Baby got up, walked over next to Pinto, and employed that same look.
“Oh, come on,” Holloway said. “That’s completely not fair.”
Baby walked over to Holloway and lightly touched his arm, eyes wide and pleading.
“Stop that,” Holloway said. “Your evil mystic cuteness has no effect on me.”
Baby wrapped her tiny fuzzy arms around Holloway’s arm and sighed, piteously and hungrily.
Two minutes later the sandwich had been sliced into six equal pieces, and each of the Fuzzys was enjoying its first smoked turkey and Swiss on wheat, chittering in delight with each bite. Holloway glumly looked down at his drastically reduced sandwich segment.
“Well, this sucks,” he said after a minute.
Sensing weakness, Carl walked up to his master, eyes full of hope.
“Jesus,” Holloway said. “Fine. Here.” He handed over the miniature meal, which went down Carl’s gullet in a single gulp. “I hope you choke on it. You’re all fur-bearing pains in my ass, you know that.”