Aquamarine Rabbits in the Cupboards
Harper L. Vandergloom, librarian, frequent caretaker of the rogue rabbit hoard known as the Purple Paw Thievery, idly ran a skeletal finger down the front of the her large personal card catalog. Her home library has grown so large over the centuries, and she found organization so enjoyable, that this simple solution resolved many problems at once. Harper’s talon stopped at a card drawer that read, “Paw, Purple,” and opened it.
With a mighty, albeit tiny, yawn, the aquamarine rabbit greeted the world at large, then it greeted Harper with a friendly wave of its so-named purple front left paw. The rabbit popped out of the drawer and fluffed up considerably in size in a manner that made Harper chuckle no matter how many times she’d seen it.
The bun awoke its fellow similarly encased rogues until a dozen or so multi-hued rabbits were idly hopping about, acquainting themselves once more with the waking world and silently planning the day’s robberies.
Harper opened the front door to retrieve the day’s newspaper and bottles of swamp slime, sour milk, carrot juice, and a basket of assorted cursed or rotten eggs. When she returned to the kitchen, the rabbits had already begun cooking breakfast.
Harper emptied the entire carrot juice bottle into a series of small trays, poured herself a single glass of slime, cracked three eggs into a sizzling frying pan, and put away the rest of the groceries.
The rabbits took turns eating, drinking their juice, and cooking. Harper read them stories from the paper, pausing to eat the eggs and toast they brought her. She would help with the dishwashing once they’d all finished.