Wabbits

If I was to own a rabbit
(a situation that
were it to actually happen
would astonish both the animal in question
and
I'm sure
its owner)
I would never call it Fluffy or Sweetums
or any of those other cringeifying names
that
in their utter preciousness
would have any self-aware animal huddling in fear
of addled spinsters
in search of pseudochildren.

It's never helplessness
that makes the bunnies look scared
you know
it's the thought of hearing one more
simpering female
talk to them in pookywookywookies
and ask whether they wouldn't like
an itty bitty cawwot
for their wittle tumtums.

And really
can you blame them?

It's a lot for any being to bear without shudders
especially one tough enough to live
by coprophagy.

(bet you didn't know that one, Ms Snugglemuffin)

No, rabbits deserve better
and if I was to own one
it would be Thrasher
or Boris
or Rex
(complete with studded collar)

and if anyone dared speak to it
in misplaced
cutesy
babble
I would give it my complete permission
and blessing
to chew off every single one
of her daintily
manicured
fingers.

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Er... yeah. I don't do so well with cute.