People tend to think I'm some horrible sort of inhuman monster because I say that I like eating rabbits. Ok yeah rabbits are totally cute and stuff, and Peter Rabbit was awesome, and I love baby bunnies as much as the next person...
Yes, it's really so cute I could vomit.
But that does not negate the fact that when that adorable little muffin grows up and gets fat, it's gonna taste DAMN GOOD in a stew. MMMmmmmmm......
I had a pet rabbit as a child.
Let me back up.
When I was a kid, Mum could't get me to give up my pacifier. We called it a "dummy," but apparently normal people call it a pacifier. I didn't suck on it, I just kept it in my mouth, clenched between my teeth, and I always kept the spare one in my left hand because I liked the way the rubber felt when you squeezed it. So I would sit there and more or less molest the dummy in my hand, twisting it round and round until some time ordained by a Higher Power that told me to switch--the one in my hand went to my mouth, and vice versa. Then I started again. And if I lost one, there would be Hell on Earth, because I NEEDED to have two at all times.
I was never normal.
So I kept this up until just over the age of five, when Mum finally decided enough was enough. A five year old is way too old for a dummy/pacifier, even if she only has it at night. (I have to agree on that one...) The only way Mum could get me to part with the dummy was to promise me a pet. I convinced her that in order to break away from my version of a security blanket, I would require something more sufficient than a goldfish. I wanted something with four legs that I could feed and cuddle. I was thinking maybe a dog or a cat, but instead Mum surprised me with a rabbit.
I know she's not the only one. I know lots of kids who've been given small furry pets when they are way too young to look after them. What are you parents thinking?!
I can't imagine it would ever be a good idea to leave your five year old unattended and in charge of taking care of a rabbit. All a five year old wants to do is terrorize the rabbit.
Well not exactly like that, but you get the idea.
For this reason, and because we never learned its gender, it became known as The Rabbit. That was the best name we could come up with.
My nanny eventually took pity on me and helped me care for The Rabbit. We built a little fenced-in area in the back garden for him to wander around in while the weather was nice. In winter he came inside in his hutch. I never really bonded with The Rabbit, but he was kind of nice.
The Rabbit was also a rather clever escape artist. It soon learned how to dig its way out of its fenced-in area. He escaped three times, but we always managed to find him and catch him and bring him home. The third time he came home, he was acting kinda weird.
And then the next day when I went out to feed him, I watched The Rabbit die foaming at the mouth in a fit of demonic possession.
Apparently, The Rabbit caught rabies during his last escape.
And six year old Mich didn't even get to bury him, because he had to be taken away by animal control or something. Cousin (she's a vet tech) says they have to take possibly rabid animals away so they can be officially tested for rabies, I guess so they can try and keep it under control?
Whatever; it left me slightly more spastic than I had been before.
I'm a pig.
I did really well for three days, and then ate way too much tonight. Our family friends came over and we all went out to dinner. They arrived whilst I was tearing my room apart, flinging clothes all over the place to try and find an outfit that would best conceal my blubber. Alas, everything I own seemed determined to make me look like a lopsided blimp, so I settled with baggy jeans and the new Tesla hoodie.
Then I go downstairs to greet the visitors and am subjected to shrieks of , "Oh my GAWD, you've gotten way too skinny!!"
ED's f*ck with your mind.