Grief for a pet is so uncomplicated. Normally stoic in a crisis, I've been a sniffling mess all day. Hoping that I could put the red-eyed look down to it being an eye-watering minus 4 degrees today in Glasgow, the whole city sparkling with frost, I had to take the laptop out and work my way around cafes and museums. Just couldn't face sitting alone at my desk without my little foot-warmer and writing companion, the beloved Bunny Bertagna. Poor little thing was suffering badly and we couldn't let that go on.
As I said in a post last year:
A rabbit is the perfect writing companion. He needs no walkies when you are lost in that hard-won mysterious 'zone' when the hours fly by and writing is a dream. Cast a few carrot chunks about the room and he will amuse himself quietly all afternoon by foraging in corners. Rabbits don't bark or twitter, just make sweet gruntings and look impossibly cute when they want something. They are the ultimate muse: when you read a bit of the book you are working on, they never look bored or less than impressed. And they are the best foot warmer in winter, as you sit at your desk.
What more could a writer want?
So, to possibly the most spoiled house rabbit ever, thank you for a bunny-load of love, fun and foot-warming. We miss you lots.
