Hello. It's Belinda.
I'm supposed to write about litter today but I'm too upset.
My roommate and I got into it. She's really mad. "To put it mildly."
It all started a few hours ago. Little Fang and I had finished our breakfast and we were going about our morning routine.
Which means Little Fang was staring at me from her pen. I was under the utility sink working on my hay reports.
Suddenly I heard my roommate on the steps. There was a certain “cadence” to her footsteps that I didn’t like. Too fast and too loud. Made me uneasy.
So when she landed on the bottom level I kept my head down.
She fussed for a few minutes in the far corner, where she keeps "odds and ends." Boxes and bags hit the floor. I heard a clanging noise.
By the way she didn’t say one word to us the entire time she was down here. Which is usually a “welcome relief” if you know what I mean. But not when she’s clomping down and then back up the steps like an elephant.
Once the coast was clear I walked out from the shadows.
“Someone has a burr in her dewlap,” said Little Fang.
That shows you something right there.
Little Fang doesn’t make “wisecracks” about anyone. But when your roommate stampedes around the house and doesn’t speak to you sometimes you blurt out a zinger.
I walked across the room to the far corner, to look for clues. Boxes and bags were scattered on the floor, where my roommate had left them.
But the exercise pen was gone. My roommate keeps a pen folded and leaning against the wall “for emergencies." But it was gone.
Now when I say emergencies I mean things like taking me to a hotel for Midwest BunFest. I stay in a pen so I don’t trash the room.
My roommate also sets up a pen around the Christmas tree. Or stretches one across a doorway, like a fence.
Well we’re not going to any hotels. And there aren’t any trees upstairs or tempting “wrapped parcels” on the floor.
I knew this last part for certain because lately I have been sneaking upstairs every night. There’s a lot going on at work and sometimes I can’t sleep. I lie awake and fret. Being a spokesrabbit isn't a game.
And when I get wound up the only way I can calm my mind is to dig in the dining room carpet. Nothing major, just a few minutes in my corner spot to work out some of my “rabbit nerves.”
This was all flashing through my mind as I walked from the far corner back to the utility sink. I mean the scene of the dining room, pitch black at 2 o’clock in the morning. The way the carpet feels when I yank it up, like I'm harvesting a tasty root.
And all the while, my roommate “sawing logs” on the bedroom level. How the English can sleep through that is a mystery but that’s not my problem.
That's when it hit me. My roommate’s bad mood. The exercise pen.
I turned and ran upstairs to the kitchen. My heart was so loud you would think someone was chasing me but it was the other way around. I was chasing after my roommate. I hoped I wasn't too late.
When I reached the kitchen I forced myself to slow down.
First I crept around the refrigerator.
Then I moved to the open doorway of the dining room.
So did my heart.
The exercise pen was already stretched from one wall to the other.
Two of the dining room chairs were missing. That’s how seriously my roommate was taking this whole thing.
My digging spot was on the other side of the pen. It might as well have been on the moon. That pen is at least three feet high. Maybe four.
I remembered that I've made it through barricades before. Or should I say "around." I'm not proud of it but sometimes a rabbit has to bend the rules.
I noticed that the pen was not nailed or screwed to anything. Maybe if I leaned against it with my nose it would move. Just a “smidge.”
It was worth a shot because I needed to get to that carpet. I had to.
I moved as slowly as I could. My whiskers made contact with the pen first.
“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.”
Sitting in the living room.
You might wonder if I jumped a mile high. The answer is no.
I didn't want to give her that satisfaction.
I simply turned and walked back downstairs to the bottom level.
That was an hour ago. I haven't done one minute of work on my hay reports since.
I ate three loops from my stash and I don't even care. And then I wrote this blog.
Now I don't know what to do.
Anyway this blog was supposed to be about litter.
We use soft paper bedding here at home. Josh ships to us from the warehouse. It looks like crumpled brown paper.
If you buy some of that litter please tell them "Belinda sent you." And if you think of it, tell them my hay reports are going to be late.
Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select