After months of keeping Whumpee in a state of near-starvation or of only feeding them slop they wouldn’t even feed a dog, Whumper surprises them with a massive spread of rich gourmet food.
“You’ve been such a good pet lately,” Whumper tells them with a smile. “You deserve a treat.”
Whumpee knows there’s an ulterior motive behind this. There’s never not, so they’re sure there’ll be a price to pay or punishment to follow. However, they’re too hungry to do anything but start scarfing down all the food they can.
They start shoveling in everything they’ve been denied for so long. Roasted vegetables, and slow cooked meats, and pillowy breads, and cheesy potatoes, all of it rich and warm and beautifully seasoned, and just for one moment, they almost feel like a person again.
But it’s just a few short minutes before their stomach starts to painfully reject the mass of barely chewed food.
At first, they suspect it’s poison. Another cruel trick played by Whumper.
It will only be later, as they hold their shuddering body in the night, that they will realize it is only because their own stomach does not remember what it’s like to eat properly.
In the moment, Whumper is left standing over Whumpee, doubled over beside their own sick, tutting with a tone of mock sympathy.
“Oh, Whumpee, I tried to be nice,” Whumper coos, rubbing their back, “but it looks like it’s back to the diet for you.”
