My Marshmellow bunny passed away late last night/early this morning. He’d been off his feed and was extremely old, so I was kind of bracing myself for it for the past few months. Still, it’s sort of a grim note to start a day on. Nonetheless, eight years is a damned respectable run for 5-pound ball of lazy lop-eared gender-ambiguous angora pudge, and one can’t say that he didn’t lead a full and interesting life.
I adopted him back in 1997 from a shelter in San Clemente, where he’d been found hopping wild alongside a San Diego freeway. Not that he could possibly have been “wild” for very long, given both his appearances and his less-than-swift attempts at escaping the animal control people. He was obviously a housepet that had either been abandoned or somehow escaped. He moved with me through three apartments before finally coming back to the house, and was probably one of the most well-traveled of my now non-existent menagerie. Being a true college bunny (and being egged on by my roommates, on occasion), he liked wine coolers and wasn’t averse to jumping headfirst into the middle of a large cheese pizza if it meant we’d give up and let him have it.
Being an angora, he also shed like nobody’s business. There would be little tumbleweeds of white fuzz flying by every spring, enough to make three times the amount of rabbit that was growing it. The masses of fur I was able to gather off him over the years was enough to spin into a huge ball of extra-fine angora yarn, which I will someday knit into something that will be obscenely luxurious.
He used to have this lavender walking harness with white daisies embroidered all over it. I’d take him out for walks in the park and everybody would comment on “how pretty she is”, which made us giggle. Then we took him to the shelter to see if we could find him a mate, and the only bunnies he’d pay attention to were the males. It just went to figure.
At the same time, he used to have a huge sibling rivalry with my long-departed Wilheim bunny, and they would charge the baby gate for days on end trying to get at eachother. He ended up staying single for the rest of his life, though he outlived just about everybun else. Which was okay by him, apparently, because he enjoyed nothing more than to just loll about and pretend to be a plush toy until an unwitting visitor nudged him to make sure he was real. At which point, he’d look annoyed, hop three steps away, and sprawl again. It was a simple existence, and he was by far the most well-behaved and problem-free of that little herd.
Rest in peace, Marsh, you’ll be missed.