I don’t know why he did it, but at some point when we were living there, my brother went out and got himself a little white rabbit. He would let it run loose in the apartment.
I don’t think he even named the rabbit. He just called him “Rabbit.” I did too. I guess he was cute (and I’m guessing the rabbit was a he), but I didn’t much care for the little presents he would deposit on the carpet—looked kind of like raisins. My brother was constantly vacuuming.
Now this was his rabbit and he was responsible for feeding it. I believe he gave it rabbit pellets or something. I also believe—Hell, I know—he would also feed it spaghetti with spaghetti sauce from time to time. It was a strange sight watching this little white rabbit chewing on a strand of spaghetti and watching it inch its way up to his mouth.
The rabbit didn’t live long. My brother found him dead one morning and took him outside and buried him. I’m not sure what the rabbit died of, but I’m thinking feeding him spaghetti didn’t help him out much. Maybe the little white rabbit died from gas.
Why I’m thinking about this today, I’m not sure, but I am.
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