Night before last, The Big One comes into my room at 12:30 AM: “Mommy, The Almost Feral Cat brought a bunny in my room. And it’s not dead.”
Honestly, it’s easier to deal with the dead bunnies than the live ones. The last live one we had got named, and practically moved in with us. I can just scoop up the dead ones and plop them in the trash.
So after about 20 minutes of trying to catch this poor bunny, I gave up. I told The Big One to get in my bed, closed my bedroom door, and figured the cat would take care of the bunny. After all, she’s the one who brought it home, so it’s her responsibility.
I didn’t find anything the next morning, so I figured we had a bunny corpse under the bed somewhere, so I told The Big One to have her dad look for it when he came over.
Apparently, they couldn’t find it, because when I came home from work, The Big One, The Little One and The Big One’s BFF, Genius Girl, were in her room, wearing oven mitts and trying to coax the bunny out from under the bed with brooms and whatever else they could find. There was a lot of screaming and squealing going on, so I left them to it.
After about 45 minutes, they managed to corner it and get it in a shoebox. We took it outside and let it go. I’ll bet that was one relieved bunny.
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