Well, no pictures for this tale. Didn't pause to take any.
Just the bunnies and me, chilling in the basement. Across the room, I noticed a brown splotch that didn't belong on the wall ... above the window ... near the ceiling. We don't get such visitors often (as opposed to the bat, the tale which started this blog), I am happy to say.
My usual method to dispatch the little uglies is to drown them in roach spray. (When I say "little", it wasn't really small, but I grew up in Charleston, SC and anyone who did knows how BIG roaches can really get, why they will be the only survivors if the planet is decimated, and strongly suspects they have been exposing themselves to radiation as a substitute growth hormone.)
But this was in the bunnies' room and I did not want to spray that toxic pesticide in their digs. So, I am scrambling around looking for something to (Hulk) SMASH this multi-legged monstrosity with ... and couldn't find anything. Finally, I found a stray newspaper section (the tiny local business chronicle - where's the Sunday edition of the New York Times when you need it?). Oh, and I found a broom.
The culprit had disappeared. The bunnies and I ratcheted back down to DefCon 4. They went back to mutual grooming and grazing (G&G we call it around here) and I went back to catching up on DVR shows because we are perilously close to running out of available memory.
Much, much later, I notice Ethel behaving peculiarly (which is saying something for her). I discovered that somewhere in her genetic backwaters, she is part pointer. Her butt was in the air and her head to the ground, staring at something like she's peering through a monocle. Then she jumps straight up in the air, rotates 90 degrees, lands ... and resumes her perfect pointer stance.
And that's when I saw what she was staring at ... the little wall crawler had traveled down the room, across the floor and was exploring their pen.
So, we were back to DefCon 1 and grabbing our implements of destruction went much faster. Since they had been previously located, they were near at hand and I was armed faster than a Revolutionary Minuteman.
I jumped (not really ... I bent over like Quasimodo to get under the bar and through the opening) into their pen and proceeded to violently introduce Mr. Broom to Mr. Bug. Do you think the bunnies could give me a little room to work? Could they maybe leave the pen and run around in the thousand or so square feet that is their domain? But, noooo-o.
They started pinging around the pen like payday in a pinball machine. It reminded me of when I was a kid and the wrestlers would bounce around the ropes of the ring, or maybe a Three Stooges movie where the Stooges and the bad guys were opening and closing doors in a long hallway chasing each other. I have experienced the literal definition of the term "underfoot".
Finally, the occupancy of the basement is down to the usual four and I went to grab something to remove the remains of temporary inhabitant #5. I turn around back to the pen and Lucy is giving it the sniff test. She is so skittish anyway, I didn't want to yell or anything and I was hoping her vegetarian instincts would remain intact when I gave a firm "No!". I hurried back across the room, did the Quasimodo and removed all temptation from her.
Life with bunnies is never dull.
I could really use some dull.
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