borgspot

Elias, the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on! (... no, not really)

About a week has passed since you were taken and we still don’t know what has happened to you. We took you to Sofia’s sister because we thought you’d enjoy spending the summer in a place where you could eat all the green grass you wanted to. But had we known that some idiot would snatch you – the very day before we were supposed to bring you back – we would never have moved you there. Actually, we were supposed to bring you home earlier. You probably remember we came to visit you about three weeks ago. Did you wonder why we didn’t let you come with us then? I hope you didn’t think it was because we didn’t care for you anymore. We did it because we cared – it was such a blazingly hot day we were worried you’d get a heatstroke in the car. We decided to return for you when it was a bit cooler. Unfortunately, someone else got there before us.

I’ve barely been able to sleep this week, because every time I close my eyes I start imagining what might have happened to you. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have my imagination, for the past few days and nights it has brought me some very disturbing visions of what you’ve been through, or might still be going through. What also has kept me up at night is the idea that you might’ve thought we wanted that person to take you. I know, it’s stupid, really – you know we’d never let any harm befall you – but I simply can’t rid myself of the thought. And you probably couldn’t understand why, why that stranger climbed over the fence that surrounded the house, went to your pen, opened the door and seized you. How could you? You’ve only known loving and caring people your whole life. You’ve always had Sofia and me.

I must be honest: I wasn’t particularly fond of you in the beginning. You belonged to Sofia and came sort of as part of the deal when we decided to move in together. I didn’t consider a rabbit a suitable domestic animal. You grew on me, though, mostly because you didn’t seem to understand that you were a rabbit. Each night you’d come into the bedroom, jump up on the bed and demand to be patted for minutes, even hours. If I was asleep, you’d either start licking my arm, or squeeze your little head in under my hand, so I had no choice but to pat you for a while. Then you’d hop down to my feet and lie thereabouts. Sometimes you remained until I got up in the morning, but most nights you grew bored after a few hours and went about your business elsewhere in the apartment.

I particularly remember one night when I was very sick and lay in bed, shivering in fever and coughing something fierce. You stayed with me the whole time and you weren’t on your usual spot, but kept by my side and each instant I woke up coughing, you approached me and licked my face, as if to offer consolation. You seemed genuinely worried about me. When I felt better the following night, you were back at your usual place by my feet.

But it wasn’t all sunshine, was it? There were times when you drove me half insane, like the time I discovered you had chewed on the cords to our surround speakers, or when I walked in and saw you sitting in our sofa, feasting on its fabric, or especially when I woke up one night to what sounded like paper being ripped and found you eating my favorite wallpaper. Man, that made me mad as hell! Several times I’ve chased you around the apartment and more often than not, you seemed to get the message. You never took another bite at the sofa again. But you just couldn’t help yourself when it came to the wallpapers, could you? Apparently they were just too delicious, because once we had them fixed, I found you yet again one night – at exactly the same place - ingesting the recently put up wallpaper. After that, we made sure to close the door to our bedroom and every night I heard you come running on the other side and then scraping your little paws at it, as if you actually believed you could push it open. But it wasn’t the wallpaper you longed for, was it? What you really wanted to was to lie in the bed again.

We were going to let you do that when you got back home. I had a plan on how to make you stay away from those wallpapers. Well, guess I’ll never find out if it would’ve worked. Hell, if I got you back now, I’d let you eat all the wallpaper you wanted to. I’d even lift you up to help you finish the whole damn wall. Sure, it’s a nice wallpaper, but a wallpaper can never bring me the kind of joy and peace you did.

I don’t even know if you’re alive. You could be dead, for all I know. Everything points to that. If you are, I hope you didn’t have to suffer. I hope that in your last moments, you knew that Sofia and I had nothing to do with it and that we both still love and hope to find you. We need to find you, whatever has happened, because the not knowing has left both of us pretty devastated. It’s difficult to move on as it is, but not getting closure makes it that much harder. And if someone did hurt you, we’ll do everything we can too see that person get his due.

Then again, you might still be alive. Maybe someone’s taking good care of you. I want to believe that. Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.

Or are you all by yourself, in the wild? I imagine you’d be pretty frightened. You always were scared of strangers – humans as well as other animals – at least until you realized they meant you no harm. You were quite cautious of my parents, until you had to live with them for a week when we moved to our new apartment. You didn’t seem as nervous when you had to stay there the second time when Sofia and I went on vacation earlier this year. Well, if you are alive and out in the woods, I wish you’d return to your pen by Sofia’s sister’s house. Then we’d come and bring you back home in an instant. I’d even buy some wallpaper for you to eat in the car.

It must seem rather silly that I write this. Heck, I don’t know if I’d laugh at it had I never had you as my pet. Like I said, I never did see rabbits as great domestic animals until I met you. Those who read this will probably think I’m mad, but if they’ve ever lost a beloved pet, I think they might have some grasp of what a terrible void that can leave inside. But why am I writing some sort of open letter to a bunny anyway? It’s not like you can read. And even if you could and someone let you see this post, it’s not like you’d understand since I’m not writing in my mother tongue. So why exactly am I writing it in English? Had I used Swedish, I would’ve been able to express myself more eloquently. I would’ve been able to more fully convey all the emotions and thoughts I’ve experienced this past week. I guess the reason is that somehow it feels easier to write in a language that I’m not fluent in, that I must try to vent my feelings in this rather coarse fashion. But that’s not why I’m writing this. The truth is, it’s because this is not intended for you, not really. It’s actually for me.

Like I said, I haven’t been able to sleep well since you disappeared. This past week I’ve felt such anger, frustration, sorrow and hopelessness, and the insomnia certainly isn’t improving my mood. I know it’s part of the grieving process, but I don’t want to linger in this state. I want to go on – need to go on – and perhaps letting it all out in this rather stupid way will help me take that important first step.

I hope you return, or at least that we find out whatever happened to you, but in case that never happens, I hope you’re at peace now. You were a great, furry little friend and you gave me plenty of joy. And some ruined wallpapers, but I forgive you for that.

One thing you can be sure of and that is that I’ll never forget you.