You are made painfully aware of your lack of understanding when it comes to how weird rabbits can be.
Fang is doing about as well as Fang can, I guess. He ALLOWS one or two pats on the head now, and even gives a warning shove to those who continue to break the “Five Second Rule”. Which is, of course, pat Fang on the head for only five seconds, or lose your damn fingers!
Since shedding season is getting to its peak around here, we decided to buy a slipcover for the sofa. Our sofa is parchment-colored, so you can’t see hair on it, until you sit on it in dark clothing, then it’s too late. So we got one of those stretch microfiber covers in chocolate brown-it shows the hair up, can be easily removed and washed, and it complements the bunnies’ coats perfectly!
So……….The darn thing has elastic on the bottom, so that it fits snugly underneath the sofa, preventing it from hanging on the floor in sloppy folds, which the bunnies would EAT. Great, nice smooth line for the sofa, doesn’t look like it’s got a slipcover on. I noticed about a week after I put it on, that I wasn’t seeing Fang anymore. Smokey was coming out every night, and lounging in his usual place, on the endtable, or in his bunny bed (Which is actually a cat bed, but it’s all semantics).
I asked my husband, “What happened, doesn’t Fang come out anymore?” He said, “Sure he does. He’s right there.” He shrugged his head toward the back of the sofa, so I went around to take a look. Fang used to lie under the endtable that Smoky was on top of, so that’s what I thought my husband meant. But no Fang. “Okay, WHERE?” I said to him. “Right THERE,” he said. I still didn’t see the rabbit.
So he rolled his eyes at me, got up off the sofa, and came around to stand next to me. “He’s right THERE,” he said, pointing to the foot of the sofa on the right, by the end table. I looked where he was pointing, and did a doubletake. The slipcover continued smoothly from top to bottom on the back of the sofa, until it got to the lower right hand corner. There was a swelling stretching away from the bottom, that looked like the swollen abdomen of a pregnant woman. “Who knocked up my sofa?” I said to him. He frowned at me, and said, “That’s FANG.”
Huh? I leaned over, and felt the bulge, and it was definitely a bunny. Fang began to move around, then kicked me right through the fabric. I looked up at my husband, not believing how weird this was, and he grinned wickedly. “That’s nothing,” he said gleefully. “I pet him while he’s in there, and he gets so mad at me touching him that he moves to another spot, so I pet him there too. If I keep doing that, he moves all the way around the sofa inside the slipcover to get away from me. So far, I’ve gotten him to go aound the sofa five times in a row without getting bitten.” He gave me that “I’m superior to you” look, and went to sit back down on the sofa.
WTF. So, he’s on crack, the rabbit is on crack, and I SHOULD be on crack to cope with this lunacy! I’ve started calling Fang Joey, because he looks like a baby kangaroo slung inside his brown fuzzy pouch at the back of the sofa. Every time I pet him in there, he kicks me. Last night, I wanted to see if I could get him to move around too, so I petted him gently inside the slipcover. Out of nowhere, his head came flying out of the fabric, teeth bared, and he sunk his little bunny choppers right into that soft spot between the thumb and fingers. It was like that scene in Poltergeist, where the huge skull pops unexpectedly out of the closet door, and everybody screams.
I wonder why I put up with this abuse, from Fang AND my husband………