Last Tuesday, my little rabbit went to Bunny Heaven. 
I called her Jezzie, but her full name was Her Majesty, Jezebel, Queen of the Livingroom, and she ruled her domain with an iron paw. She was a tiny thing (weighed maybe 2 pounds), of a breed called Britannia Petite, and she was brown with a white tummy.
She was also eleven years old. Yes, that’s ancient for a rabbit. Apparently, 3-4 years is average in the wild, and 8 or so is a good age for a domesticated rabbit. I’d had her since she was a baby, too. I bought her about two days after my now-ex-husband walked out on me (I needed something else alive in the house because it was too dang quiet, I was gone too much too and don’t have a yard, so I didn’t want a dog, and the neighborhood was too full of feral cats for me to want a cat, so I decided on a bunny).
She was a wild child. She was litter-trained, and very good about using it, so she pretty much ran free in the livingroom. She didn’t like to be picked up or petted (characteristic of the breed, apparently), but was affectionate in her own way. She would lick my bare feet, eat out of my hand, and come when I called her.
She was a junk-food junkie. I tried to feed her a healthy diet, but what she really wanted was Cheez-its, Cheerios and cornchips. At the same time every morning when I came in to fix my lunchbag for work, she’d be sitting right by the kitchen door, up on her hindlegs, waiting for the baby-carrot she’d always get.
She liked to have fun. She would shamelessly beg for treats, sometimes standing up so tall and leaning so far back that she’d fall over backwards. (“I meant to do that!!”) She liked to run and dance. She would watch TV, but only if there was a story on; she’d do something else if we were watching the news or a documentary.
She was a music critic. When I would play mandolin or keyboard, if she liked what I was playing, she’d sit still and listen, with her ears perked up. If she didn’t, she’d chew and tug on the hem of my pantsleg until I stopped.
She had the most expressive ears! You could tell her mood by them. If she was pissed, she’d shake them in an aggrieved way. She could sit with her back to me like she was ignoring me, but if I said her name or spoke to her, one ear (just one) would pivot back towards me and I knew she was listening. In goofy moods, one would be canted forward and one back (I figured she was trying to get better radio reception…). When very relaxed, both ears would be together, laying flat against her back, looking like a “monoear.” And I could never stay annoyed at her when she groomed and “combed” her ears, because she just looked so darned cute!
I think people think small animals like rabbits are sort of interchangeable, and don’t really have personalities. I beg to differ. Jezzie was one of a kind. She was always able to make me smile at a time when smiles were hard to come by. She was a kwazy wabbit. She was my friend, and I will miss her.
I’m not sure why I needed to post this, and I don’t know if anyone will read it. I just needed to put it into words, I guess. Thanks for reading.