The Plight of Jelly Pets

Jelly pets are only capable of eating jelly. If we eat anything other than jelly, we get terrible stomach aches, fevers, and blurry vision—you name it. Every pet is different. I myself experience severely uncomfortable swelling. Most pets find out that they are now "allergic," as we like to call it, almost right after they are zapped or transformed jelly. They eat, as always, then three to four hours later, are rushed to the hospital by their owners, who are then unceremoniously informed of their pet's new dietary needs.

This, the fact we can only eat jelly, may not surprise you—you are probably, as you read, brushing this off as the "logical" thing. If we're made entirely of jelly, we should only be able to digest jelly, right?

Well, as "logical" as this sounds to you, for us jelly pets, it means a life of difficulty and depravity. Have you ever considered the fact that we have never (since we've been zapped or transformed) tasted a cookie? Or birthday cake? Or an apple? Imagine your favorite food (as long as it isn't jelly) and chances are 100% that we haven't tasted in years. "Wait," you might say. "What about things like jelly cookies and jelly peaches?" (Jelly peaches are personally my favorite jelly food) Well, a jelly cookie isn't really a cookie, is it? It may have a similar flavor but the texture is still jelly. Everything is jelly, no matter the flavor. We have never tasted anything crunchy, soft, spongy, or juicy—all we our taste buds have ever known is squishy and jiggly.

All these food restrictions—do you know what it does for our social lives? Our owners have to go all over Neopia to find different kinds of jelly foods, because no jelly pet is going to be happy eating only those free jellies their owners bring back from their dailies. Really, do you expect us to eat glowing jelly for the rest of our lives? (I'm also convinced that glowing jelly isn't altogether safe for pets, but that's a different article) It costs them valuable time and neopoints—jelly food isn't cheap, you know. Most Neopians think food jellies, like jelly burritos, are novelty food art, not meant for real consumption, so they're always overpriced.

Secondly, it means that we're always the odd one out. Out for dinner with friends? Best case scenario, we have to settle for something off a dessert menu and sit through the meal hungry and disappointed while your friends eat their delicious looking salads and sandwiches and what have you. Worst case scenario, we won't be able to eat anything at all. Jellies and trifles are becoming less and less popular, and many restaurants have stopped serving them. As a result, many jelly pets avoid eating out, and many of such pets have often been called "unsocial" or a "hermit" due to their reluctance to leave their home. But we simply cannot help it—I've met jelly pets who have found it so difficult to eat out. A jelly Acara I know very well once resorted to scrapping and eating the jelly off her friends' toast when she was out for breakfast. I personally always have to pack meals ahead when I plan on leaving the home.

Worst of all, none of us were created jelly pets. We all have memories of biting into a hamburger or munching on a carrot (whatever floats your boat), and every time we eat, we are reminded of those things. Every time we watch others eat, we lose our appetite for jelly and suddenly crave everything we cannot digest—meat, bread, ice cream, cheese, fruits, everything and anything non-jelly. Even I, though I have very little memories before being jelly (the lab ray can scramble your brain a bit), sometimes dream of dancing chocolate cookies and blueberry muffins.

Now, you may be saying that they jelly pets you know or own don't have this problem—that I may be making up this whole thing. You've invited them over to dinner, served them three full courses and they never said a word and ate like they've never eaten a better meal. Well, I can I offer three explanations for this.

One: The jelly pet may just be faking it. That's right. Some of us are so good at this that we might even call it an art. I've known some jelly pets that go about pretending they can eat just about anything to avoid awkward questions and uncomfortable dinner parties—they use napkins, collars, pockets, petpets, just about anything to hide their food. They're quite good at it, and I must say that some of them are rather impressive.

Two: They have good tolerance. Now, if a jelly pet is lucky, he or she will have a natural tolerance to certain foods. I personally have very good tolerance toward broccoli, so if I ever ate a bowlful of broccoli, I would show no symptoms whatsoever. (Unfortunately, I detest broccoli)

Three: They are actually eating. Now, this reason may really fool you, since they may be the very best actors and seemingly truly enjoying the food, but I assure you that the pet is not really enjoying the experience. Outer symptoms do not begin until several hours after the food consumption, so the jelly pet who looks like he loves the brownies you baked him is probably thinking only of the pain he will suffer later.

Those are the three reasons why the jelly pet you own or know looks like he or she is eating. Other than these three, there is no other reason—quite possibly, if not these three, that pet is not really jelly at all.

This is the daily life that we jelly pets go through. Next time you see a jelly pet, please be more considerate and always keep in mind that our dietary needs may not be as simple as yours. There isn't anything we can do to cure ourselves of this—we are made of jelly and can't change that—but please be aware of this problem, and know these things before you go and ask the fountain faerie to make your pet jelly. Otherwise, your pet may come to you in a month begging to be painted anything other than jelly.