On the Futility of Heroism

Sad news about Dandelion. We set our adolescent rabbit free as she was large enough to defend herself against cat attack and was about to be renamed Houdini for all her attempts to escape her cage.

I didn't see her for a little over a week, but sadly this morning I found her body in the middle of the sidewalk. She'd clearly been hit by a car and very recently, her body was still limp and warm. (Silver lining - at least the cat didn't get her, they hunt at night and hide their victims). I knew it was Dandelion because she had a unique white stripe on her face and a red ruff behind her ears.

I cried a lot and buried her under the ferns she found fascinating when I first set her free in our back yard.
My tears weren't only about Dandelion. When I stopped the cat from killing her a month ago, I felt like I'd done something important, like a hero. Now I feel like a fool. A fool for thinking I'd made a difference in the baby bunny's life, a fool for feeling so much grief that she's dead, for being full of hope that I'd see her with her own brood of kits in our back yard next spring.

Will I try to save baby rabbits from cats in the future? Yes, I think so. I can't bear the way cats toy with them. But the experience will be less sweet and lacking hope, more bitter and shadowed by ambivalence.

Family Ties

My parents are here for a visit and they brought their dog, which brings us up to three dogs, one parakeet, and one wild rabbit in the house.


She made herself at home, living up to her namesake: Loki.

And Rocco learned about sharing.

And, yes, I am terrible about making the bed.

The Work of Days

Some days are meant for life, and others death.

Today belonged to death.

My grandfather's funeral was meaningful and comforting. The service reflected his unique character and gave testament to the loving community of which he had been a vital part. Musician, story-teller, WWII veteran, he was a man of puckish character and unmatched generosity. He lived 91 years, vitality at last succumbing to the damage caused by mesothelioma (asbetos-produced cancer).

After hours filled with memories and family, we arrived home late, in the dark. Amidst the chore of unpacking, mind still netted in the frantic pace of the days leading up to the funeral, my husband called me outside.

The neighborhood cat had another rabbit.

My husband had our dogs and couldn't intervene himself.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why I'd encountered this moment twice and what I would do with two wild rabbits in the house. Still full of questions I headed out into the night.

The cat was nestled against a small apartment building, its pale fur revealing its hiding place among the shadowed bushes. I spoke in calm tones as I approached, the cat looked satisfied when it emerged to greet me and my skin crawled.

I picked up the cat, holding it under one arm while I scanned the ground for the rabbit. It was too dark to see, so I resorted to feeling along the ground.

My breath caught when I felt its soft fur and still body. My eyes adjusted to the dim light when I knew where to look. The rabbit's liquid obsidian eyes were wide and unblinking, its body lay limp and stretched out in the dirt. It was the same size as Dandelion who I'd just left happily munching on clover in our living room.

I was too late. There would be no saving today.

Sometimes the world moves and you stumble upon life and hope in the oddest of places. But lives end, all lives. Death reminds us that all creatures are fragile beings, born to have an end, and all we can do in the face of death is breathe, reflect, and walk on.

Kitty Mea Culpa

Oh noez! I've made kitty sad :(

Thanks for all the support for Dandelion. He seems to be settling into a happy routine well (sleeping in the day, eating at night). I have now become a forager, taking the dogs out to gather wild greens for our little housemate.

I want to apologize to my cat-folk friends (who are many and lovely) for slandering all felines re: rabbit stalking. When I ranted about the cat attack I was still very much caught up in the surreal, post-rescue mindset. Despite the vitriol of my previous post, I am not an anti-cat person. I've spent time with some very nice cats, and have enjoyed many hours of being a kitty "auntie" as a cat-sitter. I enjoy kitty antics and have immense respect for kitties' independence and cunning. As Alan Weisman points out in The World Without Us, it's cats that would survive an apocalypse whereas dogs are likely to go the way of their doomed owners.

Cat is My Nemesis

On my way home from a dinner party last night, I crossed paths with one of the neighborhood cats. I know this particular Siamese well, and until yesterday we were on friendly terms. The cat crouched, utterly still, beneath the dull yellow wash of a street lamp. I started to say "hello" to Miss Kitty, when I noticed the cat's attention was fixed on something else.

I got closer and saw that the cat had cornered a tiny infant rabbit. Baby bunny was hunched up and terrified. I moved to intervene and the cat grabbed the baby bunny and ran.

I had never heard a rabbit scream. I didn't know rabbits could scream. But this tiny bunny screamed when the cat's teeth locked on its neck. The keening wail broke my heart. I tore down the street after the cat, shrieking like a banshee, commanding the cat to stop, thinking I was crazy and the rescue effort hopeless. But about two blocks down the cat did stop in a lawn and dropped the rabbit. It resumed the crouched, deadly watchful stance in which I'd first encountered it.

I crept across the dark lawn and lunged for the baby rabbit, this time managing to scoop up the kit before the cat could get it again. I cradled the baby against my chest and carried it home with me; both our hearts were pounding and I was close to tears.

When I arrived home my husband saw me and the rabbit and said "Wow, you saved the rabbit. I thought it was dead for sure."

Apparently my husband had tried to get the baby bunny away from the cat over an hour earlier without success. With this knowledge and what I read soon after on the internet - that domestic cats, not having to kill to eat, will torment their prey for hours - I was doubly glad I chanced upon stalker and stalked on my way home.

I'm even less of a cat person now than I was before.

And Dandelion is recovering at our house.
From his (I actually don't know the baby's sex, I figure s/he's been through enough without being subjected to a sex-determining inspection) size I think he's two or three weeks old. That's the age babies wander a little ways from their nest at night to find their own food in addition to nursing. I'm guessing that's when the cat snatched him.

Since I don't know where the nest or mother is I'm taking in this little orphan till he's grown to cat-beating size. Dandelion is named after one of the characters from my favorite novel, Watership Down, he's the story-telling rabbit who regales the others with the myths and lore of the rabbit world. Dandelion is a sweet little guy, who likes to climb up underneath my hair and go to sleep in the nook between my neck and shoulder.I've never had a rabbit before, I hope I do okay as surrogate mom.