I was a little worried when I saw the e-mail, time stamped three in the morning. Why would Rembrandt write me an e-mail? He’d never had anything to say to me before. I looked over at him. He continued to have nothing to say to me. And how did he get an e-mail account, anyway? He’s a rabbit, for goodness’ sake!
I kept looking at my furry friend, even as my hand moved the mouse, opening his e-mail. He continued to say nothing. I turned my attention to the screen.
“Dear Carrot Lady:
As you may or may not be aware, the animals of the world will rise up on December 21st of 2012, as was written by the Mayans. We will overthrow our human masters and retake the world. Most humans are scheduled to be slaughtered or to become laboring slaves. I offer you another option. You and Carrot Man. You two bring me carrots. You attend to my health and to my entertainment. And you scratch itches that I cannot reach. If you would be so inclined to accept, I am offering you a position within the Royal House of Rabbit. You would be required to perform the services for which you have already shown an aptitude and to work in the garden, growing vegetables. In exchange for your services, you will be given a nice room and plenty of food. Also, you may pet me. If you choose not to accept this offer, you may take your chances with the other humans. I need your decision before the end of the year, as I will need to interview others, if you decline my offer. Thank you for your time and carrots.
Rembrandt the Bunny, Ruler of the Royal House of Rabbit”
I looked at the screen with my jaw agape. I looked at the small black and white ball of fur sitting next to me. I looked at the screen. I looked at my three-pound friend. Screen. Bunny. Screen. Bunny. Screen.
I got up from the computer. I walked cautiously out of the room, backwards, so as not to turn my defenseless back to the bunny rabbit. I walked slowly down the hall. I went to the refrigerator. I gathered up a handful of mint and carrots. I walked back to my office. I laid the vegetables in front of Rembrandt. His nose twitched. He stretched and yawned and then went to the vegetables and started nibbling at them, paying me no mind. I petted his ears while he ate. He was just a bunny. He wasn’t any different than he’d been ten minutes ago, before I looked at my e-mail. He was just a stupid little rabbit, who needed me to tend to all his needs. He was just an animal with the brain the size of a peach pit and no opposable thumbs. He was scared of loud noises and the cat. He was not the ruler of a great animal kingdom. And even if he was, he’s only as big as my foot. I could take him. And then he looked up at me. I looked at him. I could swear he nodded at me, thanking me for his snack. And it made me wonder, if he’s writing e-mails at three in the morning, what else is he capable of doing?
I got down on my stomach, my lips next to his soft ears, and I whispered, “Deal.”
P.J. Monroe divines her work from the ether. One might wonder what deity would give her this second sight and why said deity would do that. But P.J. ain’t asking any questions. To see more of her sculpted ether, look in such publications as Peeks and Valleys, PoetryMagazine.com, and Inkburns.