Ch. 143; Vol. 10
After some heavy deep-sleep Twilight Zone/Hitchcock dreaming, a gray day started.
We were at the Silverspoon’s to watch the animals and the house, considering that everyone else was in Texas. We started things off by making the stunned baby bunny – a victim of Snickers’ jaws – as comfortable as possible under the green bushes on the side of the house. We laid a sheet of newspaper over his body, just a little wiggling velvety nose and half-opened black eyes. A leaf of cabbage, a small dish of water. Things didn’t look promising…
“SNICKERS YOU BAD CAT!” Puck declared, and banished her to the basement.
“She doesn’t understand, Puck,” I tried to explain. “She’s made to hunt. When sin came into the world, cats started to hunt other animals. On the New Earth, the New Heaven, cats and bunnies will be friends.”
To the best of my understanding. And considering the belief of Original Sin, I suppose I was, in a way, to blame.
Puck, still equipped in Ruckus helmet, considered this idea, and eventually allowed Snickers to wander around again…
“Look, Mom. He thinks I’m his mother.”
Puck pointed to Snickers curled up in his lap. Never mind that Snickers was a “she” and Puck couldn’t possibly be a mother.
We continued to check on the stunned little creature in the bush.
It was 66 degrees inside, and Puck still wanted a cup of frozen blueberries. Fine by me. I think he had the sniffles, too, but when did that ever stop him? Eventually he clicked on the fire in the hearth.
Four and a half hours after impact, the soft brown bunny lifted his head to look around for a moment, and then nestled back into rotting leaves to rest.
Five hours – stirred.
Five and a quarter – stirred even more, and buried himself completely under the newspaper to hide when he heard me coming.
Six – curled upright in a warm ball.
I washed my hands a lot that morning – hoping for once – that it wouldn’t rain on the little guy.
Brownies. Gloria knows my sweet tooth, so I found the box of red velvet cake mix – another winner – and the brownie mix in the pantry. The oven was baking chocolate in no time. Puck, of course, licked the bowl…
“I wish the world was made of egg batter!”
“Egg batter?”
“Uh. Raw egg and brownie mix.” The grin was huge. “Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm!”
He sounded like a purring motor.
UNO. Cool gray and green, red feathers in the trees. A baby bunny battling it out against a cut neck in the bush. Strider bike. Rope swing. Brownies. Shaun the Sheep and Arthur. Anything and everything a six year-old boy could want. How many holidays we have in a year.
Eight hours – bunny’s soft little nose still sniffling.
Nine hours – it started raining.
“HERE, MOM! HERE!” Puck tossed me a thin towel from the couch and grabbed a roll of wax paper from the kitchen drawer.
We ran outside. The bunny was sheltered under the thick bush, huddling further into the center of the newspaper, but a towel wrapped around his warm little body would hopefully protect him against the cold. And a green plastic tablecloth over the bush.
The rain stopped after a short, and light, shower.
“What should we name him, Puck?”
“Uhhhm… Let’s name him Snuggly!” Grin.
Pink rose bush rolling in the wind and the raindrops.
Ten hours – Snuggly was holding his own.
I sliced up a cantaloupe. Opened the tub of walnuts. Fried some eggs. We hadn’t stocked up for the weekend yet. And Gloria had already been out of town for nearly two weeks.
Thirteen hours – about the same was poor little Snuggly. We transferred him to the shed with his towel, the untouched dish of water, and a fresh, rinsed cabbage leaf for the night.
