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Aug. 6th, 2009 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
froodleDudes, I'm starting to think I was wrong in my assumption that living an indoor life causes bunnies to lose their inborn survival instincts.
Illustration: I get up this morning, full up with the usual mixture of misery wrapped in rage with a sprinkling of despair on top that is my workaday mindset. The "low battery" light on my 'phone is beeping. "Shit," I think, "I cannot go a whole day without sending someone vitriolic text messages about how much I hate the people I work with." I go to pick up the charger... and it's been chewed clean through.
I know right away that Kagame is the guilty party. For one, she's the only one big enough to jump out of the cage - in fact she woke me up at four am doing just that. And two, she has developed a fondness for phone chargers since this is the second time she's done it in less than four weeks.
I'm enraged. I'm so enraged that on my lunch break, which was forty-five sweaty minutes running around town trying to find a replacement charger, I actually yell at the pair of fucking elephants that insist on waddling side by side down the street, taking up the entire pavement and forcing me to walk on the road. Not that it does anything, of course - they're still fat selfish fucktards and no doubt they're waddling two abreast back from the takeaway right now and forcing some other poor bastard to walk in the path of oncoming traffic.
By the time I come home, my mind is made up - Kagame has to go. I'm too poor and vile-tempered to keep a pet that continually destroys my things. As I'm sweeping the floor of the pen, part of me is composing the post I'll put on rabbit rescue to secure her a new home. The other half is considering just dumping her outside the back door and letting the Lumberjack Cat and the Cat With The Pointy Face have her.
I kneel to sweep the litter into the dustpan. Thlayli and Fluffi-Wan, who have been eyeing me nervously since I stormed into the house, continue to maintain a careful distance.
But Kagame comes up to me and starts licking my legs.
So it turns out rabbits don't lose their survival instincts when they live indoors - they evolve methods more appropriate for the situation, such as avoiding being thrown from a window by your furious and now even broker than usual owner. Of course, a cynical person would point out that I spent the day in a huge glass office where the air conditioning is broken and there's a computer every seven inches, which lends credence to the position that call centre work is merely a Westernised version of the sweat shop, and therefore Kagame just wanted the salt on my skin, but I prefer to think of it as a gesture for attonement.
That being said, does anyone in the Leeds area want a rabbit?
Illustration: I get up this morning, full up with the usual mixture of misery wrapped in rage with a sprinkling of despair on top that is my workaday mindset. The "low battery" light on my 'phone is beeping. "Shit," I think, "I cannot go a whole day without sending someone vitriolic text messages about how much I hate the people I work with." I go to pick up the charger... and it's been chewed clean through.
I know right away that Kagame is the guilty party. For one, she's the only one big enough to jump out of the cage - in fact she woke me up at four am doing just that. And two, she has developed a fondness for phone chargers since this is the second time she's done it in less than four weeks.
I'm enraged. I'm so enraged that on my lunch break, which was forty-five sweaty minutes running around town trying to find a replacement charger, I actually yell at the pair of fucking elephants that insist on waddling side by side down the street, taking up the entire pavement and forcing me to walk on the road. Not that it does anything, of course - they're still fat selfish fucktards and no doubt they're waddling two abreast back from the takeaway right now and forcing some other poor bastard to walk in the path of oncoming traffic.
By the time I come home, my mind is made up - Kagame has to go. I'm too poor and vile-tempered to keep a pet that continually destroys my things. As I'm sweeping the floor of the pen, part of me is composing the post I'll put on rabbit rescue to secure her a new home. The other half is considering just dumping her outside the back door and letting the Lumberjack Cat and the Cat With The Pointy Face have her.
I kneel to sweep the litter into the dustpan. Thlayli and Fluffi-Wan, who have been eyeing me nervously since I stormed into the house, continue to maintain a careful distance.
But Kagame comes up to me and starts licking my legs.
So it turns out rabbits don't lose their survival instincts when they live indoors - they evolve methods more appropriate for the situation, such as avoiding being thrown from a window by your furious and now even broker than usual owner. Of course, a cynical person would point out that I spent the day in a huge glass office where the air conditioning is broken and there's a computer every seven inches, which lends credence to the position that call centre work is merely a Westernised version of the sweat shop, and therefore Kagame just wanted the salt on my skin, but I prefer to think of it as a gesture for attonement.
That being said, does anyone in the Leeds area want a rabbit?
