The Rabbit's Tale

Inspirational song: Love Reign O'er Me (The Who)

I hadn't thought about the bunnies under the deck in weeks. I almost forgot they were there, since rather than sulking and staring through the window that faces the side of the deck, all the cats have been out in the yard, chasing bugs and stalking birds and broadening their horizons. But whether I pay attention or not, something definitely lives under my deck. Yesterday my rabble-rouser cat tipped over a pot. By that I mean he stood on the deck railing, and shoved a pot that outweighs him to the ground, open-end down. I had put the yellow peppers up out of reach of the bunnies after they ate four pepper plants to stalks, and two had fully recovered. After one night back on its original rack, pepper leaves are already showing signs of snacking. I don't know who these little mammals think they are, but they're crazy if they think I'm giving up yellow peppers without a fight. The dogs apparently feel the same way, because while I showered this morning, some dog dug an eight-inch deep hole trying to pass along a reprimand for me. I threw some loose concrete cobbles in the hole, but I'm struggling with the urge to turn a blind eye to letting my enforcers rough up the thieves.

My mah jongg master is fostering two kittens right now. I spent yesterday afternoon and all morning today bonding with one of the babies. I'm not allowed to foster, and I am not so foolish as to try. We did that once, and that is how I got the white cat who never leaves my side. My man had volunteered at an animal shelter when we lived in the desert, and he was there once on euthanasia day. He held nine dogs as they died, because he couldn't bear to think of their lives ending without someone there who gave a damn. Then they brought in a six month old kitten whose wrist was broken, but otherwise she was healthy. She had been checked out by the vet, who said if she was caged for six weeks, she would heal and be fine. The shelter workers said they couldn't keep her that long, because they didn't have the space. They were going to euthanize her next. My man said no, he had enough. He offered to foster her for the six weeks. They actually resisted, on the grounds that when they used to foster, the animals never came back. This is worse than euthanizing? Lucky for me that man is a Jedi when there is something he really wants, and he talked them into it. I think I made it almost 24 hours, until I was carrying her around my house (because staying in a cage would be emotionally damaging, I reasoned) and I started scheming on how to keep her from going back to the people who tried to kill her. It took me weeks of asking coworkers to adopt her before I admitted to myself that she was the love of my life. I took a photo of her the afternoon she arrived, possibly within minutes of the first moment she saw me. I haven't looked at it in years, but I suspect now that I can read her face so well, I will see that she knew right away that I belonged to her. I need to find that photo.