You didn’t really take a shower in the apartment, so you come home reeking of Xiao Yu and cum, and it’s turning you on.  Can’t let the Mollys smell this, they seemed upset enough when they got a slight whiff of your sex last time.  You strip down, throwing all your clothes in the washer downstairs, and step into the small bathroom adjacent to the garage.  It’s almost never used, filled with rust, and the shower head is more like a hose than an actual shower, but you’ll take anything right now. A rush of cold water hits you, chasing away any horniness that you might have had.  You really needed that.  You need to think with a clear head, not one befuddled by the lingering sensations of panda pussy squeezing your-NOPE none of that!
	You got to get your mind on other things!  Like how to deal with the Mollys.  They were upset enough about learning about you and your tenant.  They weren’t anymore thrilled this morning either.  There’s some unspoken tension there, and when it comes to awkward situations, you usually have to be the one that speaks first, otherwise the Mollys will just fidget around in their own discomfort forever. Well, they really like Italian food.  Maybe break the tension with some lasagna?  Yeah, they always fight with each other over who gets to eat the leftover meat and sauce in the pan.  That might work.
	Throwing on some old clothes that don’t really smell that bad, you head upstairs.  You head to the kitchen and pull out the pasta from the pantry, and the other ingredients from the fridge.  Funny thing about the ground pork is how it’s procured.  Since the creation of Uplifts there hasn’t been much of an increase of pressure to get rid of the meat industry altogether.  There have been rumblings about how it can be traumatizing for Uplifts of cattle animals, but the Uplifts themselves seem divided about the subject.  Some call it an atrocity that needs to be banned, and just as many see themselves as above the cattle that go to slaughter, looking down at the animals and the Uplifts that support their ‘liberation’ or whatever, preferring their human side to their animal side as the dominant genetics, and therefore find nothing wrong with cattle getting slaughtered?  At least you think that’s the current line.  You don’t put much attention on it unless you see a headline about an Uplift raid on a factory farm, or blowing up a slaughterhouse with improvised bombs.
	And then there are the Uplifts that have turned to the farming industry to make a living.  Mammal Uplifts market their milk, specifically as Uplift milk as an excuse to mark up the prices, both for as of yet unproven health benefits, and to appeal to fetishists that want to drink cow milk but don’t have an actual teat to suck. Of course no one says that second part out loud, but everyone knows it.  The ads for Uplift milk are far too suggestive to suggest otherwise.  Bird Uplifts have formed their own community selling their unfertilized eggs.  There isn’t a set system for how it’s done.  Some do it full time, others treat it like giving blood, heading to one of the many laying houses, popping them out, and getting paid a comfy fee for it.  They all get bunched together, sorted for size and quality, then shipped out for the markets.  The increased quality and size of these eggs ensured Uplift egg companies like F&S stole the egg market away from the usual poultry farmers.  Used to be they were a luxury good sold only in farmer’s markets.  Now eggs the size of your fist have become the norm.  You have a carton of them in the fridge; and they make good omelettes and you really don’t mind the source as long as you don’t think about the fact that there’s a chance it came out of the butt of someone you know.
	The smell of grilling onions rouses you back to reality.  Your mother taught you how to make this alongside a bazillion other recipes that it’s nearly muscle memory at this point.  You don’t measure anything out, just eyeballing everything as you chop up garlic and onions and grilling the pork and beef while the oven preheats.  First time you tried making this it took you 3 hours of trial and error.  Now you got it ready for the oven in 30 minutes flat.  On to the cheese bread.  You know Calm Molly loves her cheese bread.
In about an hour and a half, the smell of lasagna is wafting through the house.  Slowly you hear the sound of three girls trying to creep up the kitchen without you noticing.  You pretend you don’t see them peering in from under the counter, or how one of them is trying to subtly grab your leftover beef.  “So” you say as you slam your hands on the counter.  As one, the three Mollys jump up in surprise.  “Mind setting the table?”
    Sheepishly two of the Mollys get the dishes and silverware, while another goes to bring grandma from her bedroom.  By the time your alarm goes off, the Mollys are all seated, staring at you like a cat, following your every movement as you slowly pull the finished dish from the oven.  Your grandma is idly playing with her fork while reaching for her umpteenth napkin to blow her nose.  Tenderly handling the hot pan with a rag, you set it in the middle of the table on a ceramic place-mat you kept from your junior high days in shop class.  
    “Alright” you announce, gesturing the feast in front of you.  “Dig in.”
    The table becomes a hurricane of activity as the Mollys all at once reach for the bread, the soda, the pasta, the napkins, the water.  You slowly eat your own modest cut of the lasagna, savoring each bite, while your grandmother pokes hers with her finger.
    “The fuck is this?”
    “Lasagna grandma.”
    “Your my grandson?”
    “Yes grandma.”
    “Oh.  Why am I here?”
    “It’s dinner.”
    “No I mean why am I here, and not home?”
    This again...when your grandmother gets an anxiety attack she loops the same three questions over and over ‘Who are you?’, ‘Why am I here’, and ‘How long till I can go home?’
    The real answers are ‘Your grandson’, ‘Because you’re memory is fucked’, and ‘Never’ but you can’t tell her that without her anxiety getting worse, and then she’ll start flinging food at you.  So you settle with the usual lines.
    “Your home is being fumigated grandma.  It has bugs.”
    “Oh come on bugs?  What’s so bad about bugs?  How long till I can go home?”
    “One more week grandma.”
    “Alright then.  Who are you?”
    This loop continues throughout the meal.  Eventually the Mollys stop being silent and start joining in.
    “Anon is your grandson.”
    “You’re here because you’re house is getting fixed.”
    “Three more days.”
    “We’re your pets Oma.”
    Oma.  That’s what they call your grandmother.  You used to call her that as a kid as well.  Not anymore.  When you do, she slips back into German, which you can’t speak.  And that starts a whole new line of questions that loop around on itself over and over.  Oddly enough when the Mollys call her Oma she doesn’t start speaking German, like she knows they can’t speak a word of her mother tongue, and they only picked up ‘Oma’ from somewhere else.
    With your grandmother constantly badgering you and her Pets for answer, the Mollys finally stop with the cold shoulder, opening up to you like it usual.  Food wins the day again.  They start talking with you, grandma, each other.  It feels like things are returning to normal.
    “Hey Anon, something’s wrong with our laptop, can you check it out?” Competitive Molly asks.  Assertive Molly’s eyes dart from her to you, like something bad was just said.
    “Sure” you accept as you start to take your emptied plate to the sink.  “What’s the problem.”
    Competitive Molly shifts in her seat.  “It’s um.  It’s our...um”
    Calm Molly chimes in “It’s out internets.  It won’t go anymore.  Did we run out of apps?”
    You inwardly cringe from the butchering of tech lingo.  “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to gauge what exactly she means.
    Assertive Molly blurts out.  “Our video!  The video site.  The one with the buttons.  It doesn’t download the video anymore.”
    Of course it doesn’t download, it’s a streaming service.  But you understand what she means.  The page probably doesn’t load the video or stops halfway.
    “And then on the other pages, we can’t click anything.  And sometimes we try to click and nothing happens, the screen just stays in that place.”
    The problem is starting to become clear in your mind.  You tell them to clean up after they’ve finished fighting over who gets to lick the lasagna pan.  Taking your grandma in your arm, you escort her back to her bedroom.  As soon as you leave you can hear the crashing of silverware on the floor as the Mollys start fighting over the leftovers.
    “I think those dogs want something from you.” she says.
    “We don’t call them dogs anymore grandma, they’re called Pets.”
    “Dogs are Pets.  Why the fuck should anyone make that distinction, they’re the same damn thing.”
    “Because calling them ‘dogs’ is impolite grandma, there are still real dogs too.”
    “Oh like calling Germans ‘Krauts’?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Or Russians ‘Vodka Niggers’?”
    “Who calls them that?”
    “I do.  Stop interrupting.   Those fogs want something from you.”
    “Yes, to fix their computer.”
    “Why do you need to fix the computer?”
    “Molly said something was wrong.”
    “And Molly’s my dog right?”
    You set your grandmother to bed, after repeating the same questions several more times until you finally go to the Mollys’ room.  Their laptop is open, fan running so hard you can hear it across the room as it tries to keep the CPU cool.  Pressing the space bar, the screen lights up and you are greeted with a desktop filled with webpages.  One has...47 open tabs?!  Fucking hell you know the Mollys aren’t tech wizards but this?  This is just...ignorant!  Why does anyone even need 47 tabs in the first place?  Scanning the top, you see a lot of open tabs to ‘Ningenbooru’ whatever that is.  That better not be porn. 
    It’s porn.  Lots of drawn human-ningen on Pet porn.  Majority of the tabs are comic pages from some Japanese artist entitled ‘Pet Harem: My Lovely Dogs are Drying Me Out”, each page detailing the life of a man named Wataru who keeps various Dog, Cat, and Fox Uplifts as pets, and every waking moment of his life at home is spent trying to avoid his sex starved Pets in a cramped, two room apartment.  This lead to pages upon pages of him getting sucked or fucked until he can’t use his legs anymore.  
Geez you knew the Mollys were at that point where they were getting interested in sex, but actually seeing it is another.  Is this how your parents felt when they caught you jerking off?  
	Back to the problem at hand, the browser lags considerably with everything.   Switching tabs takes a minuted, and loading the page takes longer.  Looking down, you see the browser has...ten pages open?   How did?  You switch to another page.  It’s more porn!  This one is PetHub, a streaming service for Uplift pornography of every kind.  Several videos with a human fucking an Uplift are open, the girls paused mid-climax, a look of delirious pleasure locked onto their face.  The entire page is nothing but tabs to PetHub videos!  67 tabs!  It’s amazing this refurbished laptop can support this at all without the browser crashing!
Switching to the task manager, you select the browser application and force the whole thing to shutdown.  That was insane.  And also hot.  Maybe it’s the residual effects of taking so much StamUp, maybe it’s been the last two days with Xiao Yu, but all that Pet Porn is such a fucking turn on!  Still, this is the Mollys!  You thought they spent all their time buying movies with your credit card.  Not this!  How long does this go?
	You open the browser again, single tab, and check the history.  It has a folder for ‘Older than six months’.  For more than six months, the Mollys have glutted themselves with human-on-Uplift porn.  Welp there’s only one solution for this.  Delete fucking everything.  What a shock, that was all it needed.  The browser now works fine, video streaming doesn’t freeze anymore, and they have plenty of ‘apps’ to go around.  You close the laptop and make your way to the kitchen.  Calm Molly is busy wiping every inch of the lasagna pan with her tongue until it is spotless, while the other two are roughhousing for the last piece of cheese bread.  You clear your throat to get their attention.
	“Well I fixed your machine.   It should be running fine now” you say.  
	You are about to admonish them for having so much fucking porn open the browser, but you hesitate.  This could just be a natural part of growing up for them, you don’t want to get in the way of that.  In a way, the Mollys are going through the same thing as you, and like you, they probably don’t want some nosy authority telling them not to masturbate or whatever.  Still you should say something about it.  Just don’t touch the subject directly?  You notice the Mollys eyeing you intently.  You finally speak up.  “Just” you hold up your hands.  “Just don’t go too crazy okay?  Otherwise you get all desensitized to the real thing.”
And with that you head to your room.  You got another long day tomorrow.  Imagine that.  A day of crazy sex is already feeling like a chore for you.  As you head down, you hear the Mollys talking with each other.
	“The hell does that mean?”
	“I dunno.  Molly?  You sure you left it open?”
	“Yeah, everything, even the bookmarked stuff.”
	“Then what the fuck’s he talking about?!”
	“Not so loud Molly, he’ll hear you!”
	Whatever it is they’re bickering about, you have officially run out of fucks to give and head to bed.