We lost our last bunny right before Easter this year, a Flemish Giant named Jack. Looking to add another to our home, I incorrectly assumed that our county shelter would have a surplus of rabbits after the holiday. Instead I reconnected with someone I had gotten a bunny from in the past, a local magician who raises French Lops for his shows. My previous French Lop, Cleo, was one of the best rabbits I ever had the privilege to love.
On June 22 we brought home a two month old fawn Frenchie male. His parents were huge in size, and anticipating that our little guy may grow as big, we named him Rambo. His mother, Winnie, looked just like our Cleo, only a larger version, but the same chinchilla color. Rambo’s father, Joe, was equally huge, with broken fawn colored fur.
Rambo is relatively small for now, but his body will eventually catch up to his large ears. It won’t be long before he is big enough to fill a magician’s top hat.
“Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons. – Robertson Davies
Seeing your prose in print is a rush for any aspiring writer, especially after years of not writing at all. When I saw the first newsletter in which I had five articles, I was thrilled. At that moment, it didn’t matter that the submissions were all voluntary, someone somewhere thought my words were worthy of their organization’s official communication. My heart swelled with pride as I watched the first person take one from the stack to read later. A stranger would be reading my work! The newsletter was also published in electronic format, and a hard copy was mailed to over 1,000 addresses. I’m not ashamed to admit that I have it framed in my home office for future encouragement.
Jill groaned as her alarm clock screeched its annoying cadence. She lazily silenced it and rolled out of bed. Another Monday meant the start of another lousy work week. She wanted to burrow under the covers and pretend it was still the weekend.
It wasn’t lost on Jill that her mood changed from sweet to sour when it was time to leave for her job. Her stomach burned and her head throbbed, physical pain to go with the mental anguish
Jill was tired of her line of work. She was an office drone in a cube farm. She worked at her current job for ten years and had grown bored with it. She knew she had a creative drive and talent beyond typing letters and filing.
She always desired to be an artist; she imagined her masterpieces displayed in the finest galleries. Her parents gently reminded her that she would need a steady paycheck to survive, and so she secured a position in an architectural firm.
When the economy tanked and her job no longer covered her bills like it used to, she began to resent it. She felt like an actress; she played the part of an administrative assistant, but tired of the role and the daily costumes, most of which she would never want to be buried in. She could do the same job in jeans and a tee shirt, and be so much happier and productive. Too bad corporate old men didn’t get it.
Jill received double the work but her salary remained stagnant. She was constantly reminded that there was no money for raises, but the suits compared their European vacations and luxury cars within earshot of the staff struggling to make their mortgages. These same pompous people couldn’t understand why morale was nonexistent.
Jill decided it was time to continue her art. With the current job market as bad as it was and her having no formal training, she hoped maybe to find something related to art part time. At least that would be a job she would enjoy, and her salary would be more attractive to future employers, since she had no formal art education, they could get away with paying little compensation.
She continued her 9 to 5 role while working on her art. Her first sculpture was an Oscar award for herself, for best performance in pretending to be happy at work.
Ally decided to see one of her favorite groups play over an hour away at a shore town dive bar. Her 40th birthday was on the horizon and she identified more with the younger set than her peers. She didn’t feel her age at all. The singer of the band was only three years younger than Ally, and she knew they had a young following. Undeterred, she arrived at the venue at 8:00 p.m., anticipating her group would start around 10:00 p.m., 11:00 p.m. at the latest. She was a bit put off by the sea of teenagers gathered by the entrance. It was then that she felt out of place, but she summoned her courage to go inside.
Ally paid the fee at the door and had a paper band placed around her wrist. No one carded her, and she was disappointed but not surprised. The group that was playing she did not recognize from the website’s lineup. She asked the cashier when her group was scheduled to take the stage. Midnight was the reply.
Ally looked at the woman like she spoke in tongues. Perhaps in her older age she heard incorrectly. Midnight was way past her bedtime, and this meant she would get home around 3:00 a.m. Ally returned to her car, trying to figure out what to do next.
She considered just going home, but she really would feel old if that was her decision. What did it matter how late she got home when she was off the next day? She occupied her spare time with her smartphone, and re-entered the venue at 10:45 p.m. By the time midnight came, Ally was fully awake and ready to rock. She was dead center of the stage, dancing and headbanging along with the youngsters, most of whom were under the legal drinking age. When she touched the frontman’s hand at the encore, it didn’t matter to Ally who thought she was a cougar or someone’s mom. She held her own with the kids and had a wonderful time.
No one had to know her secret. No one had to know she took a nap before the drive. She walked past the young fans on her way to her car. Ally noticed them popping something into their mouths, no doubt something to help keep the party going. She quickly downed two tablets from her purse in front of the kids in some sort of weird alliance. No one had to know that secret. No one had to know they were pain relief tablets, as standing for too long had caused her back to ache. What a difference a few decades makes.