Old news

Would you believe Mom is still scolding me for my home improvements?? You would think she'd be grateful to have a hard-working house bunny with bunstruction skills. There's not a room in the house that's not been graced with my special artistic touches.

It's easier to get away with  engage in this behavior because Mom's shackled herself to the computer for what she describes as "mountains of homework". It's heavy duty homework too, the kind that causes her to utter the kind of language that sensitive house bunnies should not be subjected to. So instead of sticking around and being morally compromised, Kenzie and I headed out to see what kind of havoc we could wreak projects we could devote ourselves to.

It's Mom's own fault. Granny suggested the other day that we might be BORED. "Free reign of every room in the house, and the little $%#$s decide they need more EXCITEMENT in their lives???" Mom bellered, as we dove for cover. The cover we chose happened to be the living room sofa, and while we huddled under there, clinging to each other in fear and desperation, I noticed that the carpet seemed to be a little discolored (not that I had ANYTHING to do with THAT), and I gave it just the tiniest tug.

Well, you know that saying about potato chips, you can't ever only eat just one? It kind of works that way for carpeting too. And once I'd pulled up a cubic foot of the stuff over by the lamp, it seemed aesthetically pleasing to just keep going. By the time Mom dragged herself away from analyzing "The Merchant of Venice" as delineated in structuralism, or some such nonsense, we'd* cleared away the size of a small wading pool.

So today we are marooned under the bed while Mom mitigates the damage. She's going to measure for a throw rug, and perhaps some barbed wire.

*Kenzie insists she was not involved. She only acted as a lookout. You know what Judge Judy would say about THAT.

Pride and Productivity

It has come to my attention that my beloved human cousin Armando has been led to believe some spurious untruths about me and my equally beloved mate Kenzie. There is NOT poop "all over the house". We keep it to the bathroom, bedroom, and under the sofa. And I didn't "lay waste to the perfectly good living room carpet". I merely REARRANGED the tufts in a pleasant, bunny-friendly pattern. And despite what some might allege, I do NOT stick my nose in everything Mom eats and take a chunk for myself. Well, *I* do not. Kenzie, on the other hand...

I really can't blame the boy for thinking ill of us. Moth refuses to let us travel in the car unless it's a trip to the VET, and therefore we can't actually SEE Armando and solicit his sympathy. Mom says we can send him a note at Christmas, but you can't really lay out a case for yourself in a Hallmark card. Especially the cheap kind Mom buys with no blank space.

So I will go on being maligned, consoled only by my sea grass chewie and the fifty pound bag of seed Mom bought for the birds. At least she said it was for the birds, when she saw me gnawing a hole in the bottom of it. I say what's a little more debris on Mom's kitchen floor? It's not like we're living in the Barbie Dream House. Of course, I have proudly left my mark on Mom's ACTUAL Barbie house, but that's another story for another time.

Foiled again

Mom has left her bedroom closet door tightly closed for the past two weeks now. At first I was sure it was just an innocent mistake, and she would soon see the error of her ways. It's just not right for one of my favorite potty ahem, PLAY, spots to be consistently out of reach.

So imagine my delight when she went into the back bedroom to drag out a furnace filter (because somewhere or other she heard the absolutely unfounded assertion that furnace filters should be replaced on a regular basis, even though they are SO PRETTY covered with soft black and white fur) and anyway, she left the CLOSET OPEN!!! (This is the same closet in which I performed much destruction, ahem, CONSTRUCTION earlier in the season).

I waited until Mom was safely out of earshot and I dove headlong into the room, and barrelled straight into my favorite corner. But something was missing. Gone were my carpet tufts and strips of material carefully gleaned from the ancient comforter. Also missing was my impressive pile of foam bits, and a spare chunk of weatherstripping.

But what shocked me most of ALL was the absence of my carefully deposited mounds of poop, ahem, "personal territory markers". None were left. Not ONE. There's one on the front porch caught in the spider's web, for goodness sake! But none in my very own sacred sanctum!

Well, there was just one thing to be done about it, and I think we all know what that is. So I hoisted myself up by my bunstraps and set to work redecorating. Mom hasn't seen the fruits of my labor yet. She's been too busy patting herself on the back for her newly "fresh and airy" bedroom. At the glacial rate Mom cleans, my efforts should go undetected for at least six months. Or until it's time to change the furnace filter again.

Fearsome

Behold Fred the Fearless, Intrepid Explorer! Yesterday I conquered the kitchen, with its slippery tile floor and creaky cabinetry. I bravely went face to face with the air conditioning duct, and showed the boots in the coat closet who's boss! Mom found me lurking underneath the jelly cupboard, surveying my domain.

Today I vanquished the bathroom! First I scaled a mountain of cushy toilet paper, then slithered into the cabinet under the sink and rearranged the towels. And I got a good head start on a new bald spot on the carpet behind the totes.

Mom doesn't seem to appreciate my adventuresome nature. "NO, Freddie, don't rip the wallboard!" "Stop, Freddie, the shower stall is not a litter box!" She's so fussy.

Oh yeah,

it's my BIRTHDAY today!!! And Kenzie's too. I am nine, and she is six. And we STILL don't get to go in the closet...

Stymied

The most horrible thing happened yesterday. Mom went away, and left us under the extremely watchful eye of Granny. Now, normally this would be a good thing. Granny likes to cuddle and gives us extra treats and serves me juice in my very own bowl so I don't have to share a glass like I do with Mom. But THIS time, Granny was up to no good.

It started out innocently enough. We had a leisurely breakfast and then some snuggle time, just like when Mom is home. But then Granny pulled out the big noisy sucky thing, and attacked our favorite hidey spots! First she moved the sofa and destroyed our carefully collected piles of poop. Then she went after our meticulously amassed mounds of shedding fur. Who would have guessed that the carpet is actually a deep maroon beneath the wads of fluffy white?

But then came the ultimate indignity. She TRICKED us into hopping up into our pen, then promptly locked us in, cackling with glee at her cleverness. And then she proceeded to violate our most sacred of spaces, UNDER THE BED. She did not stop with the vacuum, oh no. She brought out an even bigger, noisier monstrosity and began SCRUBBING our hideaway with SOAP and WATER.

Naturally we were concerned that she might need our assistance, and strove mightily to gnaw our way to freedom. No such luck. Granny left us there to languish while she finished her dastardly deed, and then moved on to the closet/litter box. Yes, you read that right. It's so much more convenient to just slip behind the stack of shoes when nature calls, instead of hiking up all those stairs to our pen. What could it hurt?

Granny didn't see it that way. Instead of being impressed with our ability to improvise, she groused about the "stench". Instead of marvelling at the sheer magnitude of our output, she muttered bad words under her breath about our "piggishness". It was completely insulting and uncalled for.

And after all that, she had the audacity to take a long hot shower in OUR bathroom. The NERVE!

We were sure that as soon as Mom came home and discovered our dilemma, she'd set Granny straight. We were wrong. Not only did Mom seem PLEASED about the invasion, she promised Granny that she would forevermore keep the closet door shut tight, and so far, she has. You couldn't slip a sheet of paper between mom and that door. Why, just this afternoon Kenzie made the arduous hike out from behind the sofa to do her business, only to be turned away. It was heartbreaking.

Freddie Fender

Wasted days and wasted nights....I love morphine! It makes me feel all gooey and soft...

Today was my tooth surgery. We got a bit of a late start, which meant Mom drove like a bat out of hell, which actually isn't all that unusual. You would think she'd be a bit more cautious, what with her precious cargo and all. Kenzie and I clung to the sides of our carrier as we ricocheted around hairpin turns, tires squealing in protest. We got to the clinic with one minute to spare. And then...

...and then the true terror began. Mom snatched me out of my carrier and plunked me down on a slippery, icy cold scale, only to make smart aleck remarks about my weight. *I* don't think five and a half pounds is excessive. It's all muscle.

Actually, it's all fur. And I weigh a lot less now, now that the tech came in and hauled me away to the back room where she SHAVED MY NECK. Then she stuck a big fat needle into it, to draw my pre-op bloodwork. As if that wasn't bad enough, then then another tech came in with another big fat needle, and stabbed me in the back!

Well, I can't honestly say I minded that one. That was the morphine. So I didn't really argue when the vet came in and started poking around my mouth with his nasty scope. He commented on what a good boy I was, and wrapped me in a warm towel, and whisked me off to the operating room. I'm a little unclear what happened after that, but eventually I found myself wrapped in another warm towel, being placed into my mom's eager and loving arms. She oohed and aahed over me and gave me back to Kenzie for safekeeping. Then I got to go home!

Oh, Granny came along, and SHE gave Kenzie and me our post-op blackberries. Blackberries make everything better. It's good to have a Granny.