A month and a half after coming to live here, Broccles the rabbit has noticed that there is more to the house than just the living room. You’d think he would have noticed all the cats, humans and guinea pigs passing in and out, but I guess he assumed that the door-curtain was a magic materialization device.
Not that Bunty and I are that great at noticing things either. I was lying in bed as dawn approached, and kept thinking I could hear something expensive being gnawed. Assuming it was the living room door, I rolled out of bed to look. It was fine. Nobody was eating it, so I crawled back under the covers and dozed off. Some time later, I heard the sound again. Where was it coming from? I stumbled into the kitchen, to find Bunty making a sandwich.
“Was that you gnawing?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said uncertainly.
We stood and listened. Colin was inciting his fellow guinea pigs into a fervid breakfast-time chorus in the living room; outside, the early traffic was beginning to rumble. Monkey the cat was meowing and clucking in the porch. There was no gnawing anywhere.
“Maybe you didn’t know you were doing it,” I suggested. In my defence, I was still partly asleep. In Bunty’s defence, he is too laid-back to argue with people most of the time.
“Maybe,” he agreed. And for some reason we both glanced at the breadboard, as though we expected to see Bunty’s teeth marks in it.
After another hour of dozing through the intermittent sound of expensive gnawing in the comfortable supposition that it was all a dream, I got up.
“Broccles has found the porch,” said Bunty proudly. He showed me where he was lurking, under some posh nested occasional tables with bite marks in them.
He tossed his ears at us as we gazed fondly at him. Only then did it dawn on us that occasional tables are not supposed to possess bite marks. We have since spent a frantic morning rabbit-proofing the rest of the house.