Wow, this freelancing work is great isn’t it? Unless the kids teachers are on strike, and you fancy flogging yourself with a stick over the guilt you feel for palming them off with electronic devices while you try to work?
Anyhoo, Friday was going to be organised and productive.
I had two calls to make then a swim planned.
At 8.30am there was a knock on the door. Still in pyjamas, I answered it to find a nice lady asking “Is that your rabbit?”.
I looked over her shoulder to see Night casually mooching around the front yard.
“He was in the road” she continued.
I began my attempt to recapture the rabbit, shouting my thanks to the lady over my shoulder as I went. Too late I realised I was not wearing a bra.
Clutching my uncontained boobs in one hand I yelled at Cheeky Monkey to corale the rabbit with me.
I was never meant to run bra-less. Judging by the look on the lady and her son’s face , they knew this too.
20 minutes later, covered in sweat, we the rabbit was ours.
I basked in the glory for all of 30 seconds when we discovered Timmy (bunny number 2) was MIA.
Cue CM’s bottom lip quivering. 5 minutes before school started.
Great. I promised to find the other rabbit. Who obviously hadn’t left a note saying where he’d gone.
After cancelling my swim I spent the morning trying to work, in between furtively checking the bushes in the garden for the bloody rabbit, who deigned to rehoin the household around lunchtime.
Phew. (Note CM was more concerned about having an icy pole than whether his “beloved” rabbit had returned. Pfft.)
Wire fencing now surrounds the perimeter of the garden. (TS has mentioned barbed wire around the top. I think he’s joking?)
So now I have to hurdle a wire fence to put out the washing. Great.
This, plus the ever spiralling vets bills ($200 for emergency trip a fortnight ago and a quote for $150 for a rabbit desexing), caused TS to send me a link for rabbit recipes.
Meanwhile, TS looks at his own vasectomy leaflets longingly, knowing he is well done the pecking, well snipping, order.
He commented to a friend recently that when I return to the house, I ask how everyone is, in the following order: “Boys, Bunnies, Me”.
(Sometimes the bunnies come before the boys. (MOTY*)).
I think this is why I said “no pets” for so long.
Because I knew they would worm their furry litre selves into my cold,cold, heart.
And they have.
*Mother of the Year
Do you have pets? Did you resist? Do they rule the roost?