[m i a o w] the cat

After his initial hiccup about Buns coming to live with us, M has formed a strong bond with the black rabbit of curious intelligence. He loves Buns. And he watches Buns dig tunnels with a furrowed brow. He has laid some plastic mesh under the ground where Buns had seemed keenest to burrow out. After that, Buns dug himself a sort of wombat hole that went under his hutch, and seemed quite happy with it as a cubby.

Two days ago, Buns began digging a tunnel around the other side of his cage. I assumed he planned it to end up at the back of his wombat hole, a stunning piece of architectural planning. M, however, decided Buns was going to dig under his entire compound and out into the horse paddock where he would jump into the jaws of a waiting fox.

This morning, just before we took off to investigate a market in Mornington, M went into the Buns Compound. Buns was working on his tunnel. When Buns took a rest break, M, thinking he was acting in the best interests of everyone, stuffed dirt down the tunnel. Buns caught him. M says that what happened next will stay with him forever. Buns made an angry grunting sound, ran at M and scratched him on the arm. Twice. And then retreated.

M bled freely, and came inside whimpering. I verbally kicked his butt from one end of the trailer to the other. M began by being mulish and unrepentant. I think it was only when I asked what he would do if someone came into his shed and filled in one of the hulls he had just made, that his frenetic Dettol dabbing began to slow. A few minutes later he slunk outside, carrot in hand, and cleared out the tunnel. M and Buns formed an uneasy truce, which was bolstered later this afternoon, by M digging Buns another tunnel of contrition and taking him offerings of handfuls of grass. A lesson was learned. Do not mess with the black rabbit.