“Look, big guy,” said our pet rabbit while I was feeding him — while I was feeding him, mind you — “it’s been fun having you around and I like the bit where you hide a sprig of parsley in the cage’s mesh, but isn’t it about time you were going back?”
“Going back where?” I had a bit of a feeling what the rabbit might mean. Also that he might not have caught my name yet.
He shook his head out some and distinctly sniffed. “I don’t know that. Wherever it is you came from. A bit of you is fine but you’ve been hanging around this house forever now and I’m sure I’m not the only one who finds you wearing out the welcome.”
This would have been a good chance to rub my eyes except that probably would have got rabbit food pellets in them. “No, no, this is my home. I married into it.”
“Didn’t ask me about that.”
“Well, it’s done and I don’t figure on leaving again.”
He snorted once more and said, “We’ll just have to have a talk about this when the other one gets home.”
I didn’t say anything, as I was pretty sure how the other one would think about me having to leave. The rabbit did try pushing on my ankles, I believe to knock me over, but there’s about a one in six or seven chance of my falling over by accident anyway so I can’t say his efforts were demonstrably more successful than chance dictates.