He was very feisty, my Maurice. I was hoping to get the docile brown and white one, but another child pleaded and got that. Maurice was thrown back in the pen when a boy decided that he didn't want a sharp-nailed bunny. P picked him up before another child could get to him, and handed the squirming rabbit to me. He was climbing on my arms, wanting to jump on the table and climb up my shirt to my shoulders. I had to stroke his big bunny ears so he'd relax. We wrapped him up in a giveaway straw hat and cuddled him all the way home.
On the way home, we acquired a small dog cage that we padded, for him to call home. Gishi was naturally curious, and Maurice was equally so. Gishi smelled and smelled and smelled him, seeming to drink in all the odors that Maurice can offer, and ever so slowly, Gishi started licking him. Once he got past licking, then came the tentative biting. Through all this, Maurice was very quiet and stayed uncharacteristically calm, nestled in the crook of my arm.
We realize that it was not yet time for Gishi and Maurice to be alone together, so after giving some food to the tiny one, the cage went into the other room. I would visit Maurice in the other room every morning and evening. Everyday, before I start my day, I'd dress up in the other room, open his cage and clean it out. He'd hop around the room, investigating every corner and test-nibble on various objects in the room. He would also hop on my leg and offer his head for rubbing. After having his fill of head-rubs, he'd hop back to his cage and eat his salad. At the end of the day, after coming home from work, I'd spend about an hour in the room with him, letting him exercise, cleaning his cage, and finally giving him his salad and carrot treat. That was to become our everyday routine for the next week.
One day last week, he started to just hang out on my chest - I'd lie down on the floor after cleaning up his cage - he'd climb up my shirt and proceed to pancake on my chest while receiving some head-and-ear rubs. We'd stay like that for minutes on end, and when I pause with the head-rubbing, he'd hop closer to my face and start licking my chin and cheeks. I was afraid that he'd nibble on my skin, but he never did. It was just purely licking. I had to suppress the urge to swat him away since it felt like insects crawling on my face, and once I got used to it, I enjoyed the bunny kisses that little Maurice would bestow upon me. Warm, damp, and smelling like hay mixed with a little musk. I loved that smell.
After that day, whenever I'd open his cage to let him out, he would just hop on my lap while I sweep up his poop and change his litter paper, looking a little impatient until I start doing the head-rubs.
Last weekend, after our morning routine, we got ready to go out. P and I went to the hi-fi show, had a great Japanese dinner, and after much deliberation, went to a friend's house in Cubao for some drinks. Next thing we knew, it was 5am. We said our goodbyes, and watched the sunrise in the car on the way home. Poor Gishi was anxiously waiting for us, since he didn't get to go on his regular night walk. P brought him out, and I cooked Gishi's food and prepared Maurice's salad.
Whistling a little tune and chatting with friends overseas, I went upstairs to visit Maurice and give him his treat. I opened the door and saw Maurice's cotton-tailed butt and one leg sticking out of his hidey-home box. He would normally jump out of his box whenever I'd enter, but I figured he was still sleeping that early morning. He wasn't.
I called to him, but he wouldn't move. I opened his cage, hoping against hope that he'd bolt out of his box and hop on my leg, but he didn't. He was gone. He seemed healthy when we left him. He had his waterbowl, his litterbox and a bunch of hay in his cage. We left a fan on for him so he wouldn't get too hot. All that for nothing. My dear little Maurice passed sometime that night.
I've been wondering if he bonded too tightly to me that spending more than 12 hours alone without me caused his death. I wondered if an errant bird flew into the room and gave him a heart attack. I would never know. All I know is that I miss those tiny bunny kisses; those little sharp nails clinging to my shirt; that sweet, hay-musk smell of his breath.
It's been 3 days since he died and I still can't help feeling a bit guilty for not being there for him when he needed me the most. It still stings whenever I enter the room where his cage used to be. It's a bit crazy, but I somehow get comfort from smelling his bag of leftover hay - the only thing of his we still have. I've noticed, though, as days pass, that the hay is smelling less and less of him. I am dreading the day when I go to sniff his bag of hay, and it smells of exactly that, and not him.
It's funny how something so tiny can burrow so deep in your heart in such short a time. It felt wonderful being loved ever so purely, even for a short amount of time.
Maurice Bunbun
Oct. 29 (approx.) - Nov. 13 2016