Distinctly *Not* Dreaming of Bunnies

I woke up this morning, at gross o’clock, turned over to go back to sleep and instead of being met with a pillow I was met with a bunny.

Who was in my bed.

Who really, *really* should not have been in my bed.

The bunnies were brought in last night (there was a thunderstorm warning). They are kept in a bucket, one of the really giant plastic tubs with wheels, and a towel was put over the top. We’ve had them inside for the past three nights. Somewhere between last night and tonight, new skills were acquired by our bunny friends; namely, the skill of jumping out of their bucket. While I am usually highly enthusiastic about gaining skills, this was not a demonstration I was particularly excited about.

I like to keep my bed free from bunny poo, and that’s pretty difficult when they are crawling all over my bed, unchecked, as I traverse dreamland.

So, instead of gleeful frolicking in subconscious wonderland, I faced the dim pre-dawn and frozen floors to find a way to weight down the towel and keep the bunnies in their bucket.

I was eventually successful, but at that point it simply made more sense to make a cup of tea than return to my slumbers.

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