Only three days into our visit from the Trained Goldsby Bunnies, Nelly and Lila, I already have my first battle scar, a four-inch scratch on my arm. Luckily, we also own a cat, Ramses, commonly known as 'Miezie' or 'Hey, you, cat', so instead of having to admit that I was mauled by the rabbit equivalent of Hello Kitty, I can tell everyone my vicious cat attacked me.
Who needs chainsaws? These bunnies, cleverly disguised with cotton tails and twitchy bunny noses, are out for blood. At least Nelly is. Lila just aims her floppy ears at me like two samurai swords as if to say, 'Go on, make my day.' That and her likely seismically significant kicks against the rabbit stall are enough even to make Ramses take the long way around the patio. Not that's he's afwaid of a widdle wabbit. Nope. He just, ahem, wants to go that way. I can't say I blame him.
But I also can't actually blame Nelly or Iila. For them, the whole world is composed of things that want to eat them. Like the falcon I saw circling the trees yesterday. It already probed ingress into the house sparrow villa in our eaves. Luckily, the bunnies are safe in their stall and only have to contend with jumpy-assed cats and cursing writers (I think only one f-word escaped during the bunny battle) until their owners return.
In the meantime, I'm putting the gloves on for these cute but deadly beasties.