After years of begging, months of researching if we could be held legally responsible for denying this boy his love, days of running the math in my head (if the average life expectancy of a rabbit is ten years and if most children move out at eighteen and if I don’t live that long, which is surely a possibility, then in which city are the trains most likely to pass each other and don’t forget to carry and reduce. And show your work!), we folded like a cheap suit and bought Peter a bunny. Meet Midnight:
That’s her in the box. If only…
After years of railing against buying animals from pet stores because of that one Dateline I saw about puppy mills in 1998, we walked into VIPets to get supplies and promptly bought the first rabbit we saw (remember? cheap suit…folding…). Of course she was black, his favorite. Of course she was the only one there, so lonely. Of course he had to refrain from even asking, just looked at her with his chocolate eyes, naked longing written all over his face. I have no weapons people. No weapons against that kind of cute.
I mean, seriously. Can you blame me. So, she’s like four and a half pounds, expressive eyes and great hair. We have so much in common. What’s not to love.
Tess might love her more than anyone. I have found Midnight on more than one occasion strapped into the American Girl doll salon chair trying on hats. And since this will come out in therapy some day anyway, I’ll admit to running for the camera before demanding she be freed from Tess and Solanda’s ministrations and given a hunk of broccoli for her trouble. Thank goodness she just wriggled free on her own and took refuge under the bed before I could get tangible proof that PETA could use against us someday.
She’s a fabulous babysitter. The day before school got out, Lucy spent 8 straight hours naked and at least a couple of them watching Disney Jr. on the ipad while Midnight nibbled apples slices and I worked furiously to get ready for summer’s imminent invasion of my Fortress of Cleanliness and Order. This is not the first time one of my children has spent the day naked. Won’t be the last either. I’m just trying to be real. I did put my foot down when I emerged from scouring the bathtub and found her riding her bike. She was wearing a helmet. But by then I was too tired to get her dressed, so I just carried her squishy self back inside and queued up some more Disney.
She’s an outside pet, which totally explains why she is living in the world’s biggest cage in my back hall while the deluxe pet hutch I ordered online for her sits empty on the deck. When I asked Dan if he wanted to build one, he looked up from his newest issue of Field and Stream long enough to shoot me a dirty look and shake his head. He’s been knee deep in building the Taj of chicken coops for the twenty six Cutie-Pies we have freeloading off us. It’s cost him hundreds of dollars and his mobility, but the chiropractor he’s seeing feels confident she’ll have him good as new in time for the next project. He’s thrilled. And so, as we anticipate skipping town next week for our annual trek to the U.P., we’ll be looking to secure a farm hand willing to take on 26 free loading Cutie Pies and a bunny named Midnight. Giddy up.
This is me being real. What new friends are you making this summer?