“Is that…?” I trail off, not even sure what question to ask.
“Her Sunday best,” Nicole says seriously. “She has a whole wardrobe.”
I look from the tablet to Nicole’s earnest face and back again. I can’t tell if she’s joking.
“Her previous owner spoiled her because she could. Princess has just … never known anything else. But let’s read through her profile,” Nicole suggests, scrolling down. “Then you can decide if she’d be a good fit for your grandfather.”
The profile starts innocently enough. Princess is a pot-bellied pig, described as “affectionate with her chosen humans.” But as we keep reading, my eyebrows climb higher and higher up my forehead.
“Listen to this,” Nicole reads aloud. “‘Princess considers herself royalty and expects to be treated as such. She prefers to spend her days lounging on soft surfaces and being hand-fed grapes. She requires a minimum of three outfit changes per day and will not tolerate being dressed in anything but designer fabrics.’”
I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not done!” Nicole continues, fighting a smile herself. “‘Princess refuses to sleep anywhere but on her memory foam bed with Egyptian cotton sheets.’”
“My grandfather would have a heart attack,” I manage to say through my laughter. “He expects animals to be, you know, animals. The chickens live in a coop. The horses live in a barn. They don’t wear tiaras.”
“But that’s the thing—Princess isn’t just an animal. She’s an icon. A little celebrity in her own right.” Nicole scrolls further down. “‘Princess doesn’t do the outdoors and has no intention of starting now.’”
I shake my head in disbelief. “So, she’s an indoor pig who wears clothes and has never seen dirt. And my grandfather, a lifelong farmer who thinks air conditioning is for city folk, is supposed to cater to her?”
Nicole’s face falls slightly. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“There’s more,” I say, taking the tablet from her and continuing to read. “‘Princess has type 2 diabetes requiring twice-daily medication. She must be bathed weekly in an oversized tub with her special lavender soap imported from France. And she wears custom-made diapers for overnight use, as she occasionally has accidents when sleeping.’”
“Okay, so she has some special needs,” Nicole concedes. “But look how cute she is!”
She swipes to the next photo, which shows Princess in what appears to be a velvet cape and crown, sitting on a miniature throne. I can’t deny the pig has personality—her round eyes seem to look directly at the camera with an expression that can only be described as haughty.
“Nicole,” I say gently, “I love that you’re so passionate about helping animals. But Princess needs someone who can maintain her … lifestyle. My grandfather is seventy-three years old. He’s not going to give a pig diabetes shots, change her diapers, or dress her in tutus.”
I reach out without thinking, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flick to mine, softening, and I know she hears the care underneath my words.
“I guess you’re right.” She sighs. “I just got so excited when I saw her. She’s been looking for a home for months. Look—” She scrolls further down. “She’s even been featured in campaigns by celebrities.”
Sure enough, there are photos of Princess posing with various influencers and celebrities, all trying to help her find a permanent home. I spot a couple athletes who’ve shared about her, too—Callum Murray, Trevor Chapman. Despite her apparent fame, Princess is still without a family—the only one she ever knew is gone.
Something settles in my chest at the thought. The jokes fade, the tiaras and tutus suddenly feeling less ridiculous and more like remnants of a life where someone adored her completely.
I glance at Nicole and then back at Princess’s face on the screen, and an idea strikes me. “You know, I might not be able to adopt her, but I could try to help find her a home. We could make a post about Princess on social media, maybe even a video.”
Her face lights up, and that warm feeling spreads through my chest again. “Dom, that’s brilliant! You havesomany followers. We could do it right now!” Nicole jumps up, energized. “I can make some signs with Princess’s information, and you could do a quick video explanation. Oh! And we should include Cocoa somehow. Animals helping animals!”
Before I can respond, she’s already digging through my kitchen drawers. “Do you have any markers? Paper? Cardstock would be ideal, but printer paper works, too.”
“Check the drawer by the fridge,” I call, amused by her instant shift into project mode. “I think there’s a notepad in there.”
While Nicole bustles around making impromptu adoption signs, I check my phone. “I should probably run this by my agent first. Edward gets twitchy when I do unplanned social media stuff.”
“This is for charity!” Nicole insists, already scribbling on paper. “For a homeless pig princess! No agent would object to that.”
I can think of several ways Edward might object, but Nicole’s enthusiasm is contagious. “Alright, let’s do it. But we need Cocoa for this, don’t we? Where is he?”
“Oh!” Nicole’s eyes widen. “He’s at my place! I was so excited about Princess that I ran straight over. Let me go grab him.”
She dashes out of my apartment before I can say anything. I take the opportunity to tidy up a bit, moving my gym bag from the middle of the floor and arranging the couch pillows more neatly. It’s stupid, but I want her to think my place looks nice.
Five minutes later, Nicole’s back, slightly out of breath and with Cocoa straining at his leash, clearly thrilled by this unexpected outing. “Here we go!” she announces. “The crew is assembled!”
