The Furry Horror Of Biscayne Drive: A Cautionary Tale For Parents

Although a rare species, the horriusfurrius or as it’s more commonly known, the furry horror, is indigenous to any household where a persuasive youngster duped parents into believing they would groom and tidy up after their dog and then didn’t. 

This juvenile of deception, this emotional chameleon is a genius at manipulation. They cry, they beg, they even do a few chores to prove they’re responsible, until finally the once skeptical elders believe their child’s sincerity and relent. 

The family then goes to the pet store and adopts a fluffy puppy along with all the food, bedding and grooming supplies it requires. By the time mom and dad pay the bill, the puppy has enchanted everyone.  

On the drive home, reminders and promises are reiterated that it’s the child’s responsibility to take care of the puppy and the child agrees. For the first few days, everything seems to work out; the child amicably takes the puppy for a walk and cleans up after it. 

Then, little by little the child becomes neglectful, whining when they have to clean up the dog’s poop or take it for a walk around the block; refusing to brush the pup’s fur to combat the endless shedding.

The well-intentioned and doting parents, regularly plead with their child to follow through with their obligation, giving their child a long window of opportunity to prove their integrity before finally cleaning up the pet’s mess themselves. 

The one in the photograph before you flourishes in the wilds of The Ralph Household of Biscayne Drive in Philadelphia, PA. I’ve been told it’s one of the worst ever captured. The agony these brave parents endured is commendable but completely unnecessary. The fools!

According to Mr. Neat, (a distant cousin of Mr. Clean), furry horrors lurk in carpets and upholstery; they linger on floors and walls, anywhere a shedding dog traipses.

As furrylings they appear innocuous, tiny tufts gather together in flimsy clumps on stairs and hang out in bedroom corners. You may often find them drifting across the floor when you walk. A frail and harmless ball of fur. Do not be fooled! These creatures thrive under complacency. 

The multiply! They scheme! They become arrogant and bold, lying out in the open, flaunting their stringy constitutions at parents as they walk in the front door after a hard day’s work. 

When a virtuous cleaner tidies up their home, the furry horrors converge and funnel into a more substantial form through vacuum cleaners or brooms. Beware!

If left unchecked, they grow rather large. As you can see, the one in the photo evolved and grew a tail. Do not let this happen. Think of it like a game of Hangman, the more body parts it gets, the worse it is. 

I must stress that unlike Hangman the furry horror is no game. They are consumed with unhealthy microbes and respiratory irritants that cause infection and trigger asthma attacks.

Fortunately, for the Ralph’s, the mother contained and disposed of this one before it required a hazmat team. Someone get that woman some hand sanitizer and a glass of sangria stat!

The Enchanted Press: Crime Takes Root In The Enchanted Forest

For the introduction, A Meeting With Mr. Shirley Tims, click here.

Click here to read Part 1 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 2 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 3 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 4 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 5 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 6 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 7 on Coffee House Writers.

Click here to read Part 8 on Coffee House Writers.

Story Starter!

Who lives here?

My answer:

Who is asking such a silly question? I live here of course. Mr. Shirley Tims, Keeper and Composer of the Maps of the Great Realms, at your service.

A wonderful little spot isn’t it? Don’t you love how the great roots keep groping forward? They grow about two feet every year. It’s widely rumored in Fawnwood that my tree house has the best roots in the forest. They’re perfect for storing my favorite ale and other valuables that I’d rather not mention.

How long have I lived here did you ask? Oh, about 200 years now. Wonderful neighborhood. Not much changes around here, except for the leaves on my roof.

I hate to dash off in the middle of our conversation. You seem like the perfect conversationalist but my dear nephew Simpson is on his way. He and his friends are off on a merry adventure to search for The Fountain of Fair Fortune. And I have the map he requires to get there.

Do drop by anytime. I adore company. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find that map before he arrives.