Read on Twitter
Since the accident that ended with you living in a shoe box, the vixen that rescued you has been pouring everything into furniture and clothing suited to your new scale.
It's far more comfortable than you'd ever have afforded on your own; it's kind of nice being a doll.
It's far more comfortable than you'd ever have afforded on your own; it's kind of nice being a doll.
It's a little galling that you can't accompany her to the store - she's very careful about saying 'toy store' - to choose your own outfits, but she's been a quick and conscientious learner about your sense of style.
Still, the plastic boots are a bit much. You do miss shoes.
Still, the plastic boots are a bit much. You do miss shoes.
There are perks, though. Fun-sized candy bars actually are fun-sized; you don't remember finishing a Snickers in months.
Naturally, everything's bigger. The view from ground level when your benefactor approaches is breathtaking.
Naturally, everything's bigger. The view from ground level when your benefactor approaches is breathtaking.
You've hesitated on the question more than once, but you do wonder occasionally if she still considers you a person or a fancy pet.
The worst case scenario is that she takes excellent care of her pets. You lean into the role a fraction, and decide to pick up some 'tricks.'
The worst case scenario is that she takes excellent care of her pets. You lean into the role a fraction, and decide to pick up some 'tricks.'
Coins lost in the sofa rattle in a change jar. Dust bunnies? Banished. You're fitter than you've ever been jogging around the house, dodging titanic footfalls and hauling rolled-up socks and such. It's nice to be useful for a change rather than just cute.
One day it slips out and you call her your owner; she lets the comment slide without note, but her ears are sharp and you both know what was said.
She comes back from the toy store later that day with a proper dollhouse rather than the hastily-upgraded shoe box.
She comes back from the toy store later that day with a proper dollhouse rather than the hastily-upgraded shoe box.
The dollhouse is your space, which she insists is sacred. There are tiny cloth curtains and the doors latch from the inside.
Sure, she could split the wooden house down its center and swing it open on a central hinge like an angry giantess, but it's nice of her to consider.
Sure, she could split the wooden house down its center and swing it open on a central hinge like an angry giantess, but it's nice of her to consider.
Your new home is an upgrade, but it comes with certain concessions to safety. You go from the dresser to the coffee table, which is technically a larger 'yard,' but you can't reach the floor without assistance.
Your box had crude windows that didn't face into her room properly.
Your box had crude windows that didn't face into her room properly.
No expense has been spared on pampering you, keeping you safe and comfortable. Your new home has windows in every room, and it's with no small surprise one morning as you're heating a thimble of water that you hear her thud clumsily into the living room.
You're not sure whether or not you're supposed to be watching, then decide... not. Perhaps she hears the faint flutter of cloth against one of your windows.
There's a whoosh and a soft flutter. The temperature kicks up a little, and your kitchen is eclipsed by a bra.
There's a whoosh and a soft flutter. The temperature kicks up a little, and your kitchen is eclipsed by a bra.
So there are drawbacks. Your existence is a closely guarded secret and you live a life of rustic simplicity cobbled together out of toys and spare tools.
Your girlfriend is like sixty feet tall, though, so... there are definitely still perks.
Your girlfriend is like sixty feet tall, though, so... there are definitely still perks.
