Previously in the saga of Prince Rupert
Afternoon stretched into evening as Pete and Rupert dozed lazily in front of the tv, watching bright colored vegetables and fruit float dreamily through a starry sky. Night time fluff tv was mostly soft xylophone music and ambient night time sounds, like crickets and trickling water white noise. The doldrums of the job, coupled with the soft, fluffy stallion asleep in his lap made it difficult for Pete to keep his eyes open.
Kimmy had already shut down the entire daycare, swept, mopped, turned out all the lights, spare the colt room where Pete and Rupert lounged together. The other fluffies long since picked up by their families, the little plump stallion was used to being the last one at daycare. Kimmy didn’t enjoy Rupert’s insufferable Daddeh, but she was worried nonetheless.
2 hours past closing came and went. Pete and Kimmy were not allowed to go into overtime hours, and company policy said that Rupert was to be put in a crate and left alone for the night, and turned over to the shelter if the owner didn’t return by morning. Pete thought this absolutely barbaric and had already volunteered to take Rupert home with him. Kimmy said this would be fine, provided Rupert was here right at opening before the other staff saw.
The phone finally rang. Pete watched as Kimmy’s face fell. She hung up and took a deep breath before sitting next to Pete and the sleeping fluffy pony.
“That was the Hotel Ponifornia across town, You know, the brothel/sex shop?? Pete? Fuck, Rupert’s dad, isn’t coming back for him. He keeled over on top of a … well you know the kind of place that is. The receptionist over there left the daycare’s contact info with the cops, and if any arrangements are to be made for Rupert or lawyers or something, they’ll call us here. So I suppose we lock up and you two go home. Do you have fluffy pony supplies? I’m sure nobody will notice a litter tray and food dishes missing.”
Pete had a dingy efficiency apartment, and the makeshift nest of a plastic fluffmart shopping basket lined with a daycare blankie was placed gently in the standing shower stall of his tiny bathroom, with a litter tray and a little food and water at the other end, making a rudimentary saferoom with easily mopped floors. Poor Rupert didn’t even wake up the whole journey home.
Pete did not sleep. He had no experience with pets, let alone a biotoy, and the responsibility of a not-alive lifeform worried him sick. He drank a whole pot of coffee and spent all night trying to research what was to be done for poor Rupert. Legally, Rupert was a piece of property, no different than a bar of soap. A breathing, snoring, shitting piece of property. But what if Rupert was worth more than $1000? Then Pete being in possession of the fluffy was a felony. For a stupid toy, things were getting dicey the more Pete researched.
Somehow a fluffy pony not being considered an animal made it super difficult to take care of one in the event the owner dies. It was not quite sunrise and Pete was heavy into researching pawn shops and how they handled unclaimed property when he heard a yawn from the bathroom.
In a half asleep daze, perhaps guided by the scent of the wood pellet litter, Rupert woke, stretched and did his business. It wasn’t until Pete greeted the little pony that Rupert even realized something was amiss.
The little stallion’s large purple eyes were full of confusion. “whew Daddeh? Wooput wan Daddeh! whew housies? dis nu wooput’s housie, Peet.”
“Hey Rupert,” Pete tried to be gentle, “You’re at my house. I am going to take care of you for a little while. I have something sad to tell you, little buddy.
Pete sat on the bathroom floor, “Your Daddy, Miles? He has gone forever sleepies. What do you know about forever sleepies?”
“Wooput know… foweba sweepies is nu wakies nu mo. nu pway o wun or nummies nu mo.”
“So your Daddeh won’t be waking up from his forever sleepies, and we won’t see him again.”
Watching the gears turn slowly in the fluffy pony’s brain positively broke Pete’s heart. The little stallion climbed into Pete’s lap and began the loudest crying jag, huhu’ing pitifully, leaving streaks of tears and snot all down Pete’s t-shirt.
Pete managed to get Rupert in a crate at daycare right before the morning shift arrived, and no one was the wiser. Rupert did not play ball, or eat much, merely sat with the babbeh colts watching flufftv all day. By afternoon, Kimmy came in on her day off and made the call to take Rupert to the nearby shelter.
Rupert wouldn’t bear to be parted from Pete, so Pete held the clinging and sad stallion in his lap as they rode in Kimmy’s car.
Dr Kathy was a good friend of the daycare, and Kimmy loved flirting with the doctor’s assistant, Matt. The good doctor leaned over the exam table while Matt jotted down Rupert’s intake information. “So, in order to not get in trouble with the daycare’s corporate, Rupert needs to be surrendered and I’ve got to give you the papers saying Rupert was dropped off here. But after that, you two are free to adopt or foster Rupert out of the shelter system through us. Given that Rupert might be an expensive piece of property, let’s make Pete an official foster and if or when we need to change arrangements, everything is above board and clean paperwork-wise.”
His highness sat quietly bewildered while the humans talked about him, but not to him. “Namesie Pwince Wooput. Daddeh nu wikey wen dey say jus Wooput.”
“Absolutely, your highness, I’ll make sure to call you Prince Rupert,” the doctor was sincere in her apology, “I’m so sorry, my mistake.”
Days turned into weeks with no word from the cops or the lawyers. Pete carried on, learning on the go the best ways to care for a fluffy pony. Little Prince Rupert alternated between hours of moping consumed by grief and playing like he had forgotten his Daddeh Miles entirely. Sometimes in the beginning Rupert was angry and wanted his old toys and his old bed, but Pete was patient and gentle with him. What little mementos Pete had of Miles were carefully stored for when Rupert was feeling especially sad. Holiday cards that he had sent to the daycare, little art projects Rupert made. Sometimes these cheered up the little stallion and other times made him even sadder. Pete and Rupert had a good little life in the cramped apartment. Work, groceries, going to the fluffy park, eating canned spaghetti together.
Grief is a strange creature, and even stranger in fluffy ponies. Who knew such little horses could have such big feelings?
You can’t do this to my man, I’m going to believe he lived happily every day and the worst inconvenience he ever faced was losing a stuffy friend. Hae’chu, dummeh