Above is Tiny, my little cousin’s baby bunny she bought to play with during her stay in Malang. He liked to eat flowers and cabbage while playing with his sister every morning when Tamara took them out to the garden. He was so small that he could fit in my open palm. He liked to sleep soundly on my palm while I caress it slowly.
He died yesterday, on my last day there, the day when I’m supposed to fly back to Jakarta.
That morning I woke up, unusually early. As I climbed down the stairs, Tamara sat silently on the dining table, gazing on her tingling feet. By then I was told that Tiny had passed this world, leaving his sister playing alone in her cage. It was a sad day.
---
I once had a bunny of my own. I and my eldest sister were walking down in our previous apartment’s park when we saw him; a little bunny looking at us with sad looking eyes. He was small, and hungry. A little boy had abandoned him there because his mom had told him so. After a few scratches on my arms, the bunny sat nervously on my arms. It was scared. I know he was. His little heart, hidden beneath his furs, was pounding like mad.
The year was 2000.
Ever since that day, he was my pet. My oldest sister and brothers liked to feed and pet it sometimes, while my older sister seemed to look at it with slight disgust on her face, although I swore I saw her once or twice tried to feed it when I’m away.
We named him Ling Che. And soon we called him Che-Che instead. Che in Mandarin means ‘eat’. And that’s precisely what he liked best: eat. Unlike other bunnies, he was an omnivore, and perhaps I had something to do with it. I liked to feed him everything: chocolates, jellies, noodles, chicken, burgers, breads, cakes, and other snacks. Of course, he ate vegetables as well, his daily diet. Like you all might have guessed by now, he grew fat.
As a little girl myself, I confided into the furry creature. I carried him on my lap, as if he was a little baby, and pet his furry forehead. He had this smell that I will forever remember as his warm fat body slept silently in my arms, his little ‘Y’ nose moved up and down indicating his breathing.
As years passed by, my family (even my older sister) has grown accustomed to have him around. I used to see my older brother secretly giving Che-Che a piece of his food, or even leave some milk for the little rabbit to savor. Every birthday (I dated his birthday as the day when we found him), I would buy him a small piece of a cake as a celebration for another year.
One cold night, my sister was chatting on the computer. I walked casually to Che-Che’s cage, bringing him some chocolate ice cream. When I saw him inside, something tells me that something is wrong. Quickly I opened his cage, and he was biting on 1 of the handles forming his cage. His green vegetables were left untouched, not even a leaf.
I pulled him out, and I knew something is really wrong. Searching for better light and environment, I took him into my room. He had lost control of his bones, he was unable to sit straight, and helplessly he stumbled, fell on to the ground. I was afraid. Overcame by panic, I scooped him, tried in vain to make him able to stand straight again, hoping that he needed only some help.
I was wrong. As seconds passed, my fear has forced me to tears. I was afraid, deeply afraid. With Che-Che lying helplessly on the ground, I ran to my brother’s room, knocking on his room. He wasn’t happy when he opened the door; I knew that he was distracted by me. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want to speak of the truth, my worst fear.
My brain had lost all words, I looked at my brother, slightly shivering while I said in lowest decibel, “Che-Che..”
He stood, and then paced to my room, to see the rabbit that helplessly lie on the ground, his small ‘Y’ nose moving weakly. As he examined him, I ran down to the bathroom and cried in silence. He was my first pet.
When I finally got out, my brother has moved the rabbit into a little box. I looked upon him and tears started to prickle again; he was laying there, his body covered with a white towel, but still I saw his nose breathing, weaker than ever. My brother was trying to make him magically recover by tempting him with his favorite vegetables; it worked before, but not tonight.
I re-entered my room, I couldn’t be there any longer, and I cried again in silence. Then my elder sister entered the room, and she sat there next to me in silence, patted my back once. I ran back out. Che-Che had died. His ‘Y’ nose has stopped moving. My brother had stood up, walking towards my parent’s bedroom.
I sat next to his box, patting him for the last time, my eyes were wet. When my parents got out, they were dumbfounded by what had happened, I was crying, my brother avoided their looks, later my brother told me that even my older sister was crying a little. That very same night, my dad, I and my brother walked down to the park with a flash light. We buried Che-Che on the same spot where we had found him.
It was July 2004. 3 years from today, he was 4 years old.
May he rest in peace.
He died yesterday, on my last day there, the day when I’m supposed to fly back to Jakarta.
That morning I woke up, unusually early. As I climbed down the stairs, Tamara sat silently on the dining table, gazing on her tingling feet. By then I was told that Tiny had passed this world, leaving his sister playing alone in her cage. It was a sad day.
---
I once had a bunny of my own. I and my eldest sister were walking down in our previous apartment’s park when we saw him; a little bunny looking at us with sad looking eyes. He was small, and hungry. A little boy had abandoned him there because his mom had told him so. After a few scratches on my arms, the bunny sat nervously on my arms. It was scared. I know he was. His little heart, hidden beneath his furs, was pounding like mad.
The year was 2000.
Ever since that day, he was my pet. My oldest sister and brothers liked to feed and pet it sometimes, while my older sister seemed to look at it with slight disgust on her face, although I swore I saw her once or twice tried to feed it when I’m away.
We named him Ling Che. And soon we called him Che-Che instead. Che in Mandarin means ‘eat’. And that’s precisely what he liked best: eat. Unlike other bunnies, he was an omnivore, and perhaps I had something to do with it. I liked to feed him everything: chocolates, jellies, noodles, chicken, burgers, breads, cakes, and other snacks. Of course, he ate vegetables as well, his daily diet. Like you all might have guessed by now, he grew fat.
As a little girl myself, I confided into the furry creature. I carried him on my lap, as if he was a little baby, and pet his furry forehead. He had this smell that I will forever remember as his warm fat body slept silently in my arms, his little ‘Y’ nose moved up and down indicating his breathing.
As years passed by, my family (even my older sister) has grown accustomed to have him around. I used to see my older brother secretly giving Che-Che a piece of his food, or even leave some milk for the little rabbit to savor. Every birthday (I dated his birthday as the day when we found him), I would buy him a small piece of a cake as a celebration for another year.
One cold night, my sister was chatting on the computer. I walked casually to Che-Che’s cage, bringing him some chocolate ice cream. When I saw him inside, something tells me that something is wrong. Quickly I opened his cage, and he was biting on 1 of the handles forming his cage. His green vegetables were left untouched, not even a leaf.
I pulled him out, and I knew something is really wrong. Searching for better light and environment, I took him into my room. He had lost control of his bones, he was unable to sit straight, and helplessly he stumbled, fell on to the ground. I was afraid. Overcame by panic, I scooped him, tried in vain to make him able to stand straight again, hoping that he needed only some help.
I was wrong. As seconds passed, my fear has forced me to tears. I was afraid, deeply afraid. With Che-Che lying helplessly on the ground, I ran to my brother’s room, knocking on his room. He wasn’t happy when he opened the door; I knew that he was distracted by me. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want to speak of the truth, my worst fear.
My brain had lost all words, I looked at my brother, slightly shivering while I said in lowest decibel, “Che-Che..”
He stood, and then paced to my room, to see the rabbit that helplessly lie on the ground, his small ‘Y’ nose moving weakly. As he examined him, I ran down to the bathroom and cried in silence. He was my first pet.
When I finally got out, my brother has moved the rabbit into a little box. I looked upon him and tears started to prickle again; he was laying there, his body covered with a white towel, but still I saw his nose breathing, weaker than ever. My brother was trying to make him magically recover by tempting him with his favorite vegetables; it worked before, but not tonight.
I re-entered my room, I couldn’t be there any longer, and I cried again in silence. Then my elder sister entered the room, and she sat there next to me in silence, patted my back once. I ran back out. Che-Che had died. His ‘Y’ nose has stopped moving. My brother had stood up, walking towards my parent’s bedroom.
I sat next to his box, patting him for the last time, my eyes were wet. When my parents got out, they were dumbfounded by what had happened, I was crying, my brother avoided their looks, later my brother told me that even my older sister was crying a little. That very same night, my dad, I and my brother walked down to the park with a flash light. We buried Che-Che on the same spot where we had found him.
It was July 2004. 3 years from today, he was 4 years old.
May he rest in peace.
---
My friend had called me stupid for believing, and even give a slightest thought of such thing called bunny heaven. "There is no such thing as a bunny heaven. Animals dont go to heaven when they die. They are simply gone."
