I’m actually a professional pet groomer myself, and I always find myself wondering what my career would be like if these shitrats existed. Here’s a peek into how I think they’d make this job just that much worse;
Winter was 23 years old, lived alone in a shoebox studio apartment, and worked at perhaps the shittiest chain store known to mankind; FluffMart. They might’ve chose something less depressing had the alternative not been starvation-their parents kicked them out the day they turned 18 after coming out as nonbinary-but FluffMart was hiring and Winter still held out hope that they could one day transfer to working on real pets after practicing enough on biotoys.
You see, domestic pets such as dogs and cats grew much rarer after the technicolor plague called Fluffies swarmed the world, due to the fact that they spread more disease than a hooker giving Black Friday discounts. Nowadays pets were largely immune thanks to modern medicine catching up, but that decade or so long gap cut the population down to a fourth of what it used to be, and purebreds even smaller. And so Winter’s much coveted title of Pet Groomer sat behind the gilded cage of rich people wanting only the best for their expensive, precious pets, while having no way to get experience with them. Not with real ones, anyway. FluffMart’s Fluffy Grooming Salons™ were Winter’s only option until a master groomer near them took apprentices, or until some poor fuck let them practice on their less-expensive-but-still-valuable-mutt.
And that brought them to today, where the first of eight screaming, shitting clients would be brought in for their (ideally) monthly grooming.
“I’d like a fluffy cut, please.” The owner was a forty something year old woman holding a purple coated, yellow maned earthie under her arm like a briefcase.
“Do you have a picture of what you’d like done? Fluffy cuts are-“
“I just said I’d like a Fluffy cut, please.”
Winter fought the urge to press their fingers right through the woman’s temples, and settled for counting to ten before speaking. “I understand that ma’am, but Fluffy cuts aren’t a true style. Every salon does them different, and I wouldn’t want miss-“ They squinted, seeking a glimpse of the mare’s name on the store provided laptop. “-Petunia to look anything other than her best.”
“Hmph. Just do her like those Instagram Fluffies, oh like that darling Riptide, I love him!” The woman stuck out Petunia without waiting for a response, ignoring her cries of “bad upsies” as well as the shit crusted ass crop dusting the salon floor. “And make sure you keep her coat long! I want to take home a fluffy, not a fat mouse.”
“Petunya nu’ am mousie fwiend! Am fwuffy!”
“Of course. She should be ready in about three hours.” Winter took the fluffy and scowled as soon as the woman turned her back, watching her pull out her phone and start yammering at the top of her lungs. Turning away, they set Petunia down on the grooming table and took off her leash and collar, then began the pre-groom check. “So Petunia, has your mom ever taken you for a haircut before?”
“Mummah gib Petunya baff sumtimes, bu’ nebah take Petunya’s pwetty fwuff.” She wriggled uncomfortably as Winter dragged their fingers through her fluff, checking her neck, pits, legs, searching for mats that wouldn’t come out without a blade. “Mummah twied tu take pwetty fwuff an’ gib Petunya heaw-pwace huwties, nu take fwuff aftah dat.”
“Oh wow, that must’ve been scary.” Yup, just as they suspected. Most fluffy owners gave their bioshits baths at home, not realizing that fluffies came in a variety of coats. Wooly coats that grew constantly were rare, thank god, but soft, chunky double coats were one of the most common ones Winter would see. Those double coats got impacted when clueless owners bathed them and didn’t dry them completely, which then stuck to the fluffy, failed to shed, got dirty as all hell with shit and piss and spaghetti sauce and fuck knows what else. Then the fluffy would fail to thermoregulate, or get hotspots. Hell, one time a nasty fluff came in with half a sandwich stuck inside of his rump fluff, molded and matted to the skin. “You must be very brave.”
“Fank yu nice wady, Petunya had bigges’ scawdies buh Mummah said sowwies tu Petunya, hab su many saddies untiw Petunya gib hugGIES-”
Suddenly Petunia was up in Winter’s arms and being carried to the bathing room at the far end of the salon. The FluffMart salons were built similarly to real pet chains, with one long room cut into three unequal chunks. The first and largest room was the salon floor, holding tables and tools for drying fluffies and giving them haircuts, the second was a kennel room for fluffies to wait their turn to be groomed or to wait to be picked up, and the last one was a small square room half occupied by an industrial steel tub. The sight instinctively made Petunia start to flip her metaphorical and literal shit as she tried climbing up Winter’s chest, only to be yanked down by her mane.
“Hey. We don’t do that here. Behave yourself or you’ll get the sorry spray.” While sorry sticks were used in salons, as were sorry boxes, the sprays were more common due to them being quicker to use and having less lingering effects than a bruise from a sorry stick. The spray was heavily diluted “bad babbeh” pheromones, that when sprayed made a fluffy temporarily perceive themselves as ugly.
“Sowwy nice wady, Petunya be gud, jus dat-EEEEEEE!” She sat down onto Winter’s forearm with a thud, then got dropped into the tub in the same manner. The high walls prevented any fluffy from leaping out, and the raised grate floor ensured the risk of drowning was near zero. “Pwease, wawa bad fo’ fwuffies!”
“You’ll be fine. This is special water, it doesn’t hurt good fluffies.” Winter twisted the first nozzle and watched the pressure gauge tick, then followed up with the temperature one. Just a touch above lukewarm, and just enough pressure to get through the fluffy coat without punching a hole through their garbage anatomy.
“Huuu…otay, Petunya am gud fwuffy, nice speciaw wawa nu huwt gud fwuffy…”
Petunia let out a squeak as the first wave of water poured down her neck and back, drenching her down to the skin and freeing up the first layer of grime stuck to her body. Her tail went next, then her mane, though Winter avoided her face for the moment. It was best practice to do the face last, as it caused fluffies to panic more often than not, and the shampoo used on their faces was different from the one on their bodies. Speaking of which, Winter cracked open a bottle of Filthy Fluff Orange Mango degreaser, deciding to target the mare’s mane first. As brain dead as fluffy instincts were, Petunia couldn’t help but give a happy coo at the feeling of careful fingers scrubbing her mane, tugging out knots and getting out all the yucky stuff she couldn’t reach on her own. Another helping of shampoo was scrubbed into her pudgy body, and by the time Winter reached Petunia’s legs the water below the grate was a murky brown.
“Okay, now we have to clean your butt.” This was one of Winter’s least favorite parts-Hasbio’s child friendly programming made fluffies sensitive of their junk. Unfortunately, fluffies also happened to have shit covered mats on their junk. The heads up was meant to lessen the chance of sorry poopies on clean fluff.
“Nuu!” And, predictably, it did not help much. “Nu touch poopie pwace!” Petunia backed into the corner of the tub, still covered head to hoof in soap and almost falling over.
“Petunia, do you want to go home a poopie fluffy? Because no one wants to take home a poopie fluff.”
“Petunya nu am poopie fwuffie! Hab pwetty fwuff!”
“No, not your fluff color. Dumb fucking rodent.” Winter muttered the last part, of course, then pointed to the tail Petunia was clutching. “The poop on your butt. Only poopie fluffies are yucky like that. Do you wanna be yucky forever?”
“Nu! Nu wan’ be yucky fowebah!” Petunia finally stood straight, shaking like a leaf but determined to go home without any poopies. She flinched at Winter’s touch, staring straight ahead with a grimace as her butt fluff was scrubbed and pulled. It hurt, and it was embarrassing, and then it was done. Winter threw the huge chunk of poop and hair into the trash, allowing Petunia a quick “Waow! Aw dat on Petunya?!” before rinsing her.
Conditioning went much smoother than the shampooing now that Petunia was into the swing of things, and the slick nature of Stuffy Sam’s Moisturizing Detangler meant the rest of the knots didn’t hurt to remove. When Petunia was rinsed for the last time Winter wrapped her in a big pink towel, then carried the fluffy back to their grooming table. They sponged off most of the water before putting on a small elastic loop of terry cloth around Petunia’s head.
“WAT AM DIS TING?!” Petunia yelled, not realizing that her hearing was purposefully muffled.
“That’s a happy hoodie. It keeps your ears safe from the loud noises.” Winter tapped their own ears, then put on a pair of noise canceling headphones rated for professional use. The high velocity dryers used on fluffy fur were loud, and the echo bouncing off the concrete floors had killed more than one fluffy before salons started keeping hoodies onsite. Winter secured a thick groom loop around the fluffy’s neck, then picked up a black hose with a nozzle attached to the dryer. It would be terrifying to any fluffy, had Winter not put googly eyes on it. “This is the dryer friend. He is loud, but he’ll won’t hurt you. Okay?”
“OTAY!” Petunia tapped from one side of her hooves to the other, giggling at the big not-snake’s bouncy eyes. “HEWWO NICE DWIEW FWIEND! WAN BE PETUNYA NYU FWIEND?”
The dryer kicked on, and the dual motors roared to life. Winter took one step to the left, holding out a towel to catch the piss with their free hand.
“SCAWIES!”
About twenty minutes later Petunia was dry enough to be put in a kennel with a cage dryer, which flooded the crate in question with warm, soft jets of air. It’d get rid of those last bits of moisture clinging to a fluffy’s skin, which gave Winter enough time to clean the tub area, and set up their tools for the haircut. One advantage fluffies had over normal pets-or so Winter’d heard-was that you could negotiate with them more easily, since they could talk. It made dealing with first timers like Petunia much easier, and it kept the accidental death rates down. Sometimes fluffy groomers would lose their temper and brush a little too hard, or stand up a fluffy too forcefully, then they have to pay for vet bills or property damage. It was a legal hassle to go through, and a salon’s reputation never went back to what it was pre-accident. It reminded Winter of what Petunia said when she came in; that her mother had given her ear hurties. If Winter were to guess, they’d be willing to bet that Petunia’s owner accidentally cut her ear using normal house scissors instead of grooming shears, saw the outrageous amount of blood, and freaked out more than the fluffy did. They saw a Liveleak video of a fluffy running in circles for fifteen minutes after getting his tongue cut at the fluffy groomer’s, and while he survived the salon’s paint job did not.
“Alright, haircut time.” Winter set the fluff down on their table, picking up a buzzer and turning it on. The sleepy Petunia barely lifted her head at the machine, already craving the comfort of her kennel.
“Waat…? Nuuu, nu take pwetty fwuff. Petunya wan wawmsies…su nice…” She smacked her lips and followed it up with a tiny yawn, feeling Winter brush out her fluff with a big square brush. That too was comforting, and Petunia was ever grateful for the thickly padded loop she was leaning against.
“Don’t worry, we’re not taking off all of it. We’re just taking off the extra fluff so you can be extra pretty.” Unlike dogs, a double coated fluff could be shaved or clippered without risking their hair’s regrowth-it had something to do with their chimerism, but Winter didn’t go to college, and whether or not they graduated high school was up in the air, too. The point was that the specifics were lost to them, and this fluff was gonna be buttery smooth and beautiful by the time they were done.
It wasn’t a dog, but it was practice, and that was okay with Winter.
Though the buzz from the clipper was deep and bassy Petunia didn’t seem to mind, and Winter had to appreciate how well adjusted this fluffy was, considering the owner’s lack of…well, everything except money. They were able to start with a basic “Fluffy Cut” the same way they always did; short on the body, longer on the legs, blend head into neck, trim mane and tail but otherwise leave them long. The contrast between the short, velveteen body fur and the fluffy column shaped legs gave Petunia a stunningly adorable outline, reducing the fat hamster look and emphasizing the cute horse one. When it came time to finalize the legs, the shears were more nerve wracking to use than the clippers despite being quieter. Winter was using thinners, and like all grooming shears those tools were wickedly sharp, and could gut a fluffy like a fish if they weren’t cautious. That being said, the blade’s dangerous nature allowed it to make smooth, seamless shapes out of fluffy hair, and even trim the dead ends off Petunia’s mane and tail without the stringy bottoms looking flat or unfinished.
Winter gave her a spritz of Plum Fun Leave-In Conditioner, knowing damn well her owner would ignore the recommended 8 week reschedule and instead show up twice a year with their grody ass fluffy. The leave-in could guarantee Petunia an extra week or so before she got bad enough she had a mega clump of encrusted shit on her ass again.
“Waow! Petunia su pwetties! An smeww pwetyy tu!” The mare gasped and turned from side to side, taking in every angle of herself in the fluffy sized mirror Winter had in the salon. It kept her occupied while Winter called her owner, and fifteen minutes later the woman showed up looking even more irritated than when she dropped Petunia off.
“No! You took off too much hair! Why isn’t she fluffy anymore?! Where is your manager, I want a refund!”
Winter’s eye twitched, but they paged the manager anyway, watching Petunia run into her mother’s arms with a joyful shout, rambling about how she smelled pretty and felt pretty and how brave she was for facing the wawa.
”FluffMart Grooming, you have a call on line 1.”
Winter’s manager walked in, and the headache they managed to get rid of returned in full swing.
It was gonna be a long day.
Disclaimer if the formatting is shit it’s because i’m shit. Also I wrote this on mobile, if you have any tips please share or put me outta my goddamned misery
fantastic post though!