The Custody Agreement

The Custody Agreement

I'm walking down the street at 10 A.M. when I see a rabbit whiz past. I grin, give a paws up, and push my sunglasses a tad further onto my nose. “Slow down, buddy! Wake up and smell the roses!” With the rabbit already out of sight, I grimace to myself. I'd forgotten that this particular rabbit hates the smell of roses because of a bad experience with them, and also that said rabbit couldn't slow down any more than Flash could speed up; it's his thing.

The rabbit I'd been talking to wasn't just any rabbit, but the White Rabbit...You know, the one that human girl Alice chased down the burrow? I'm on my way to meet my all-time favorite rabbit, Officer Carrots Fluff—you might know her better as Judy Hopps. You didn't hear it from me, but I'm anxious to see her... I only stopped to say 'hey' to Mr. W. because I'm feeling generous today, and I happen to like the guy.

Okay, here's the scoop...me, Carrots, Mr. W., and a whole slew of other animals, plus some humans and a few less-identifiable species—we're all co-workers. Not at the ZPD—that's just me and Carrots, our main gig—but at a theme park. I know what you're thinking...'Mr. Tough Guy Nick Wilde works at a theme park?!' Hey, it's only part-time. And don't knock it 'til you try it...this is no ordinary theme park. It's nothing like some of my old ventures. Nope, it's got something all its own.

My boss is a mouse. You'd think that after all that stuff with Mr. Big, I would never let another rodent tell me what to do, right? But this guy is special. This guy is a visionary. That whole 'anyone can be anything' idea that Zootopia strives for, Mickey has down pat. That's why he gets the big bucks, and why we call him the Big Cheese.

This place is its own city. Animals and humans talk to each other. Royalty walks among their subjects. Villains and heroes chase each other down the street—but they're just fooling around. I mean, they even take turns! We all hang out together and play around with humans who wear gosh-awful tourist garb. It's a ton of fun.

Yep, that Mickey is a genius. He'd never admit it though, 'cause he's as humble as it gets. I wish he could teach me...Wait, no, I don't. I like being me, plus I don't want to lie, because I heard what happened to Pinoke. Anyway, Mickey says he owes his success to all his friends, starting with some guy named Walt. I get it, I guess; sometimes you can't get anything done without help, especially from that one friend who just won't quit...For me, that's Carrots.

Speaking of...Everyone around here has their own way of amusing the humans. (Who, by the way, Mickey calls 'guests'.) Me and Carrots like to pretend we're taking the little humans (I mean, 'guests') into “police custody”. That's a glorified way of saying we take 'em for a walk. The (--what do you call young humans, anyway? Cubs? Pups? Kits? Eh, go with what you know--) kits love it, and the parents are pretty cool about it, too. That's the kind of trust being a top cop at the ZPD gets you.

Seriously, though, that kind of power makes me feel ten feet tall. Well, give or take a little, thanks to some magic Mickey has up his sleeve that makes us non-humans the same height as our guests. As the saying goes… 'The customer is always right'--the right height, that is. That mouse thinks of everything.

My phone is ringing. I'm standing in the exact spot where I always meet Carrots every day, but she isn't here yet, so I take the call.

“Talk to me.”

“Hey, Nick. You make it there on time?” It's my PA. Her name's Hannah Snowshoe Hare, and she's almost as sarcastic as I am, but she has the soft streak that's gotta be hard-wired into anything remotely resembling a bunny.

Carrots is the “chief's pet” at the precinct. I should be, too, by association if nothing else, but the fact is that Bogo still hates yours truly. I opted to hire a bodyguard/PA based in Zootopia so that somebody other than Carrots or my mother cares whether or not I'm okay. So, yeah, it's her job to care where I am...even if she is a bossy pain in my tail sometimes. I sigh.

“Yeah, Hannah, I made it. I only overslept by five minutes. I'm pretty fast, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” She laughs, a soft, low chuckle.

“I beat Hopps here, so that should tell you something.”

“Miss Perfect is late? Well, Wilde, that tells me that today must be your lucky day.” She laughs again, just like before, and hangs up. I do the same, shaking my head. I like Hannah, but why does she always have to call Carrots 'Miss Perfect'? Nobody has a right to say things like that except me!

Oh, uh...I should tell you something. Carrots and I...are official now. After we solved the missing mammals case, there was a movie made about it. You humans had some sixth sense that we were more than friends, and, well, you were right on the money. The thing is, you knew it before we did. Can humans read minds or something? Anyway, good work, junior detectives!

“Hey, Nick! Sorry I'm late. Robin Hood wanted my help tracking down an overly enthusiastic bandit.” Look who showed up! That's the good news. The bad news is, she was late because she's been hanging around Robin again. Yeah, they're both law enforcement, and he's married, but...between you and me, I go a little insane when she's around other tods.

“It's cool, Carrots.” I shrug it off. I wonder if she notices that I'm stretching the truth when she nudges me. Our first guests are here, so I'd better shut my muzzle.

It goes like this. We know they know we can talk. It's just that if we did, nobody would leave us alone, because we (as in Carrots, me, and every one of my non-human colleagues) have led fascinating lives. Guests would talk to us all day if we let them, which is why Mickey made it company policy that only the humans among us can talk to guests directly. That way, things run more smoothly. Some of us non-humans have speaking parts in shows—scripted stuff. Neither Carrots nor I have been asked to do this yet, but I, personally, would like to hone my acting chops on a show one day.

Okay, back to the guests—there's a mom, a dad, and a little girl named Izzy. I think she's 5 in human years. We shake hands/paws with all three, then cuddle a very happy Izzy while her mom takes pictures. Her dad has a video camera out, and he asks me on record if Carrots and I are dating. It catches me off-guard—this guy doesn't seem like the WildeHopps type (that's our “celebrity couple” name), and before I can think to react, Carrots leans in and kisses me. She wins.

We have this game where, when somebody asks about our relationship, the first one of us to kiss the other wins. We're competitive like that. And whenever she gets to me first...I don't have time to be a sore loser, because my knees go weak. So far we've only kissed on the cheek—I mean, this is a place with kits around every corner—but that doesn't matter; I get wobbly every time.

We coax Izzy between us and each hold out a paw to her. She takes both with a big smile, and we march away down our usual route. Her mom and dad are like the puparazzi, tailing us and snapping pics, taking video. I know our path like the back of my paw, so I can afford to look over at Izzy, who's grinning ear-to-ear, and Carrots, who's checking on her every few minutes, looking at her so adoringly that I have to catch my breath.

The same thing happens every time we do this, but it really gets me when a sweetheart like Izzy comes along. Plenty of humans say they want to take us home with them (and some do, in plush form), but the feeling is mutual with kits like Izzy. The other thought jockeying to overwhelm my brain—like it does every 'custody' run—is what a great mom Judy would be.

(Yeah, I use her name when I get sappy. What's it to you?! It's still the truth!)

Ahem—Sorry about that. Um, where was I? Oh, Izzy. We did our thing, squeezed in a few more hugs, and waved goodbye. Then...lather, rinse, repeat. Don't get me wrong; I love this gig, even more than police work, because I still get to do it with Carrots, but with less pressure, and cute kits to boot. It's just that not all kits are as easy to deal with as Izzy. Those cases make me glad I have a day job.

When we're back in Zootopia after a stint with Mickey, I'm always beat. Even though it's not that late, this time is no exception. I get off the train, say goodnight to Carrots, and drag myself back to my place. I flop onto my bed and check my phone, only half-focusing. Then, I'm wide awake when I spot a text from Hannah:

You must be tired tonight, big guy. Come on over, and take a load off. I'll help.

Whoa, she's…?! ...Hitting on me?!

O.K. Time to 'fess up. I've had a crush on you...for months now. Maybe I went too far. But I like you, Nick. Don't want to mess this up. At least come over so we can talk.

Cheese and crackers! Well, now might be a good time to tell you that Hannah has something in common with me. My motto has always been 'never let them see that they get to you'; Hannah is basically the same way...She's never said so outright, but I can tell. I was on the streets for so long that when someone evades something, I notice. But—I'll level with you--I had no idea she was into me…! I'd better go straighten this out.

Hannah's a freelancer; her office is in a building owned by former Mayor Lionheart. After the Bellwether incident, politics were out of the question for him, but he's done alright. As he should; he's a decent guy. He just—what did he say after the news broke?--was doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. Anyway…

She's there, sitting behind her desk, one leg propped on it with pillows. She's very chill (Get it? Chill? Snowshoe hare?) that way. She smiles when I walk in. “If it isn't my favorite fox. Have a seat.” I pull up the chair across from her desk and slouch into it.

“I'm flattered, truly I am.” Her eyes lose a little of that guarded mask.

“You mean that?” This time, she's connecting our playful small talk to the text she sent me. I decide to choose my words carefully.

“Yeah, I do. I like you, too, Hannah; you're good at what you do...and you're a good friend. Thanks for that. So, no offense, but...I'm with Hopps.”

She seems upset, but not surprised. “I guessed as much. You guys are good together.” She sighs. “I like the thrill of the chase myself, but I'm not cut out for it.” I keep my disbelief hidden, except for the slight rise of my eyebrows. “You go after guys who are, uh, spoken for?”

“Guilty.” But she says it lightly, and she doesn't look it. I have to admire her candor, though. Like I said, I always got the feeling she was a mammal after my own heart; I just didn't think it would pan out so...literally. “I guess you could say I've always been the third wheel on four wheels.” She pauses.

“Nick, look—I want us to be pals and all, so I'll give it to you straight. You know about my wheels.” Sure do. They're hard to miss...except when she's behind the desk, like she is now. She gets around on a shiny silver battery-powered chair thingy that she about blends into come winter. “It's about time I told you how I got them.”

“I went shopping. I was redecorating my place and had just bought this big ol' mixer. Wore out the old one with all the carrot cake I make. I was on my way out of Walrusmart with this thing—it was a beauty—and some tiger comes up and swipes it right out from under my nose. It was all so fast that I took a nosedive when he whipped past me. I twisted my legs real bad, broke both of em', and they haven't been the same since. The ZPD went after the guy—he was too fast for 'em, but they were real good to me and made sure I was alright. When I heard about you and Hopps and that big case of yours, I was real proud. It's like that stinker Bellwether would say-- 'we little guys gotta stick together'. If only she'd used that to do some good around here.”

I take a second to let everything she's told me sink in. “Thanks for letting me in on that, Hannah. I appreciate it. I'm sorry about what happened...but, hey, you handled it like a champ. That whole thing makes me proud to be a cop...and your friend.” She shrugs.

“Don't mention it.” She smiles, then starts rummaging around in her desk drawers, pulling out this, that, and the other thing.

“What're you doing?” She laughs loudly, and it ends in a snort.

“Packing my stuff. It's not like you're gonna keep me around when I propositioned you.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean you have to leave...and hey, you're the one leasing this office, aren't you? What I'm saying is that, actually, it is like that. You explained yourself...and, sweetheart, you have to do a lot more than that to offend me. This is Nick Wilde you're talking to.”

“So I noticed.” Now I see it—the subtle bat of her eyelashes, not to mention the ever-so-slight seductive lilt to her voice.

“Didn't anyone ever warn you not to so much as kick around the idea of hanky-panky with anybody you call 'boss'?” I quip. She winks.

“You're the first--” Her smile's all sultry. “...Boss.”

I guess I hustled for so long that the signs are starting to become part of the furniture to me. Either that, or I'm a doggone good cop! Speaking of doggone good cops, chatting with Hannah has helped me nail down something that I want to ask Carrots tomorrow.

The next morning, I invite myself to join Carrots on the commute to Mickey's. That way, she won't be tempted to go near Robin Hood again...which is true enough, but the real reason is so I can ask her about the thing I thought of yesterday.

Her eyes light up when she sees me. I love it when that happens. “Hey, Nick! I thought this train was too early for you?” She's only teasing, but it stings, especially since she was the one to be late yesterday.

“I want to be the first fox you see this morning.” There—two can play this game. That little dig should be enough to stop her from running off with Robin's merry troupe. She laughs.

“Touche.” The train pulls up, we file in, and, as usual, pick seats next to each other. As the train lurches away from the station, it leaves me slightly shaky, mostly from nerves about asking Carrots...Asking Carrots...Cheese! I should just get it over with.

“Carrots…Judy...Would you...consider...moving in with me?” I tug at the collar of my shirt, which suddenly feels stifling. I watch Judy. Her eyes...wow. They almost look like one of those lightsticks at Mickey's, the way they shimmer, sparkle and shine. Ahem—ah, sorry for the gushiness. (You know what? I've changed my mind; I take that back...not sorry.)

“I'd love that.” I can hardly believe my ears!

So, what does a rakishly handsome hero-cop fox do when his radiant rabbit star-cop partner and girlfriend agrees to move in with him? Well...we're going to Disneyland! Even if it is a working vacay.