Rabbit

Not so long ago I found a rabbit.

Cute, confused, beautiful, and homeless, I fell for it like a ton of bricks stacked on an egg.

It was messy and wonderful, my rabbit and I.

I bought some newborn rabbit food and an eye dropper. I would sit and hold my little rabbit and coxe it to eat something. It refused. I insisted. We argued for hours.

The result of these interactions were both of us covered in sticky baby rabbit food formula (matted fur and sticky hands and shirt) with some small percentage ending up in its little tummy.

This process continued for some time. Funny rabbit. I smile. Sometimes it cuddled into me like I was the Easter bunny himself. Sometimes he would fight me tooth and nail and leave my hands spider-webbed with little scratches.

Silly boy. I was convinced that both responses were equally affectionate.

Rabbit grew. I'm afraid that was the name. And grew some more. My plans to race the world with him by my side were eclipsed by the nagging perception that Rabbit had reached a point where he would be better off without me.

Time to grow up. I hate it.

Rabbit left one day. I left the door open. Hoping he would stay, but I did leave the door open.

He left.

Funny thing. I lost my Rabbit. But I swear he hangs around. I see him from time to time. I know it's him. Cause I memorized his eyes. And when I approach to engage in conversation he listens carefully and doesn't run.

But perhaps I make things up for my own feeling's sake.