Дебора Хоу - Bunnicula

Bunnicula opened his eyes wide and turned his face, as best he could, to me. I jumped up onto the nearest chair and placed the rabbit safely on the table’s edge.

“Okay,” I whispered, “there’s your dinner. Go to it! Get your fill as fast as you can, poor bunny. I’ll stand guard.” I don’t know that Bunnicula fully understood what was going on, but the sight of the vegetables piled high in the center of the table sent him scurrying in their direction. He was very hungry!

As luck would have it (and as I should have anticipated), Chester’s sense of timing was as astute as my own. No sooner had Bunnicula reached the edge of the salad bowl than the door swung open and Chester bounded into the room. He surveyed the scene frantically. I was unable to act fast enough. Upon seeing Bunnicula about to enjoy his first bit of nourishment in days, Chester leaped across the table, seemingly without touching floor, chairs, or anything else between himself and our furry friend and landed directly on top of the bunny.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he shrieked. Bunnicula, not sure what to do, jumped high in the air and landed, with a great scattering of greens, smack in the center of the salad bowl. Lettuce and tomatoes and carrots and cucumbers went flying all over the table and onto the floor. Chester flattened his ears, wiggled his rear end, and smiled in anticipation. To cat observers, this is known as the “attack position.”

“Run, Bunnicula!” I shouted. Bunnicula turned in my direction, as if to ask where.

“Anywhere!” I cried. “Just get out of his way!”

Chester sprang.

Bunnicula jumped.

And in the flash of a second, they had changed positions. Chester now found himself flat on his back (owing to the slipperiness of the salad dressing) in the bowl. And Bunnicula, too dazed to even think about food now, hovered quivering on the table.

Chester was having a great deal of difficulty getting back on his feet, but I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he’d attack again. And I knew also that Bunnicula was too petrified to do anything to save himself. So I did the only thing I could: I barked. Very loudly and very rapidly.

The whole family rushed through the doors. Mr. Monroe must have just come home because his coat was still on.

“Oh, no!” cried Mrs. Monroe. “That’s it, Chester. This is Chester’s last stand!”

Chester rolled his eyes heavenward and didn’t even try to move.

“Mom,” said Toby, tugging at his mother’s arm, “look at Bunnicula. How did he get out of his cage? He looks scared.”

“Of course, he’s scared,” Mrs. Monroe said. “We probably forgot to latch his cage and he got out. And I think Chester has been chasing him.”

Toby put his face close to the rabbit. “Mom, doesn’t Bunnicula look kinda sick?”

“We’d better take them all to the vet to see if any damage was done,” she answered.

I started to whimper. No need for me to go to the vet.

Mr. Monroe patted my head. “We may as well take Harold along,” he said. “He’s probably due for his shots.”

Mrs. Monroe carefully picked Chester out of the salad bowl and carried him by the scruff of the neck to the kitchen. “I’m going to give Chester a quick bath,” she said to Mr. Monroe. “Why don’t you put together a fresh salad? Toby, you and Peter put Bunnicula back in his cage and then clean up the table.”

I didn’t stick around for an assignment. This was not the time to be in the way.

And besides, I now had a whole evening and night ruined worrying about the next morning’s visit to the vet. This little effort of mine, I thought, has been a disaster in more ways than one.

Chapter 9 - All’s Well that Ends Well … Almost

Looking back on that night, I remember thinking that this whole mess could never be resolved happily. What would become of Bunnicula, my new friend, who was suffering from starvation? And what of Chester, my old friend, who seemed to have flipped his lid and, if you’ll pardon the expression, was in the doghouse with the Monroes? Of far greater concern at that time, of course, was my own future, for on that night all that consumed my thoughts was the fear of the next day’s injections! It all seemed hopeless indeed.

But looking back on the next day , I can tell you that happy endings are possible, even in situations as fraught with complications as this one was.

Early the next morning, we all piled into the car, some of us with greater reluctance than others, and trundled off to the vet. And by afternoon, we were on our way to solving our problems.

The vet worked everything out very nicely. He discovered that Bunnicula was suffering from extreme hunger. ( I could have told him that.) Rather than jar his fragile stomach with solid foods, the doctor decided he should be put on a liquid diet until he got better. So Bunnicula was immediately given some carrot juice, which he drank eagerly. After he finished, he looked over at me with a great grin on his face and winked.

Chester was diagnosed as being emotionally overwrought. It was suggested that he start sessions with a cat psychiatrist to work out what the doctor called a case of sibling rivalry with Bunnicula. I asked Chester later what a sibling was, but he wasn’t speaking to me. So I looked it up. It’s like a brother or sister. And sibling rivalry means you are competing with your brother or sister for attention. I wasn’t sure this was Chester’s problem, but it sure explained a lot about Toby and Pete.

As for me … well, I came out the best. Dr. Wasserman was all set to give me my shots when the nurse came in with my card.

“Wait, doctor, this dog doesn’t need his shots yet. It’s too soon.”

So I got a pat on the head and a doggie-pop instead.

These days, everything is back to normal in the Monroe household—almost. Bunnicula liked his liquid diet so much that the Monroes have kept him on it. And oddly enough, there have been no problems with vegetables mysteriously turning white since. Chester, of course, insists that this proves his theory.

“Obviously, Harold, the liquified vegetables take the place of the vegetable juices, so Bunnicula has no need to go roaming anymore.”

“Then he’s not a vampire,” I said.

“Nonsense. He’s a vampire all right. But he’s a modern vampire. He gets his juices from a blender.”

“Case closed, Sherlock?” I queried.

“Case closed.”

“Oh, Chester …”

“Yes, Harold?”

“What are those two funny marks on your neck?”

Chester jumped and I laughed. “Very funny,” he said as he began to bathe his tail, “very funny.”

The Monroes never knew anything of Chester’s theory. They changed markets and to this day believe they were the victims of a curious vegetable blight.

Bunnicula and I have become good friends. He still doesn’t say anything, but he snuggles up next to me by the fireplace and we take long cozy snoozes together. One night, I sang him a lullaby in the obscure dialect of his homeland, and he slept very peacefully. It was that night that cemented our friendship.

Now—about Chester. I said that everything was back to normal—almost. Naturally, Chester is the “almost.” He has been seeing his psychiatrist, Dr. Verrückt Katz, twice a week for some time now. He takes his therapy very seriously.

The other morning, I was trying to get a little sleep, when Chester came over and nudged me in the ribs.

“Harold, do you realize we’ve never really communicated? I mean really communicated?”

I opened one eye cautiously.

“And in order to communicate, Harold, you have to really be in touch with yourself. Are you in touch with yourself, Harold? Can you look yourself in the mirror and say, ‘I know who I am. I am in touch with the me-ness that is me, and I can reach out to the you-ness that is you’?”