A Bunny In Our Sunroom

There was a bunny in our sunroom. It was a tiny, baby bunny wedged protectively between a potted Christmas cactus and a decorative statue of a boy holding, of all things, a bunny. I smiled thinking my husband had transferred a realistic figurine from my late mother’s to its forever home in the sunroom.

Then, it moved. I was certain of what I had seen but leaned in closer just to make sure. Yes, it was alive. A live bunny was in our house! Maybe it’s what I had heard the night before rustling around and had dismissed as nothing.

Sensing my presence, the bunny was aroused from its protective niche. It hugged the wall, entered the adjacent den, and darted under the large, leather recliner. While the room was silent, I quickly closed the bedroom door behind me and corralled our Labrador retriever before she noticed our tiny intruder.

I barricaded the den from the kitchen preventing possible escape. It wasn’t for fear of being injured. I just didn’t want a runaway bunny having free rein of the house. Next, I called my husband at the bank. Thankfully, business hours had ended. The bank was closed, but he answered the call on the first ring.

“I need you to come home,” I said.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, everything’s all right, but there’s a live bunny in the den under the recliner!”

We only live about a ten minute drive, at worst, in traffic from town. I knew he would come to the rescue. He always does.

In the meantime, I kept a close watch on the recliner and remained as quite as possible. I also prayed—not for my safety but the little bunny’s. If startled, I knew it would flee again and possibly become trapped under a more ominous piece of furniture.

When the sound of the garage door opening signaled my husband’s arrival, I was relived. He entered with large pieces of pasteboard and a blanket. Together, we constructed a makeshift exit shoot for the bunny. Leading from the recliner to the sunroom door, we fashioned a protective path to the backyard and opened the door.

“OK, hold this piece in place, while I lift the recliner,” my husband said.

Holding my assigned piece of pasteboard as a shield, I starred as a tiny, now sleeping, bunny was totally revealed. It was so precious, almost appearing angelic, until it awakened.

Suddenly, it darted from the recliner straight into the shoot. Sliding on the sunroom tile like ice, it was first under one wicker chair then another until finally escaping back to the courtyard, where its journey had begun.

Today, the bunny figurine I originally thought was hiding has finally made it home. It’s placed in our sunroom with memories of Mama and another tiny intruder.

Who knows? Maybe bunnies can be angels.