This is hard but, I have been lying to you all. For the last six months I've been boasting about my "perfect" life in Japan. You know, my job, which occupies less than five hours of my day, five days a week. My boyfriend, who dressed as the yellow Go Ranger for Halloween, because he's Asian. My new 27" iMac, where I spend countless hours playing Sims. My sweet little bunny. Yes, yes, an amazing life.
The truth is, everything is not as it seems. Those of you who have followed my Twitter may have suspected as much. I've been bruised, attacked, and terrorized. What we once believed to be a half hamster, half squirrel breed of rabbit is now showing herself to be half werewolf. The other half? We still don't know.
I didnt believe it at first, when a friend who was spending the night over told me she heard a little growl. Even when Raspberry attacked another friend, Yen, I thought she was just scared of an intruder and protecting her pile of pellets.
But, slowly, as these things often happen, Raspberry started turning on Motto and myself. For the first few weeks it was only Motto that got the brunt of the blows. And only when he came home from work at night. She didnt lunge at his ankles and growl when he let her out of the cage in the morning. Only at night. Which is where my werewolf theory is developing from.
Her attacks on me have slowly increased. It seems that when she is in her full fury she cant distinguish one ankle from another. After hours of peacefully sitting on the sofa petting her head and watching episodes of Mad Men together she snaps as soon as Motto comes in the door.
A jealous rage? Maybe. But until she learns English, or I learn rabbit Japanese, I will never know. And she's too clever to let me catch it on tape. As soon as my camera is on she has to "poop" in her "toilet."
Blog followers, let me tell you, the hardest part about all this is the embarrassment. When my students ask me about the black bruise on my ankle and then I have to hear them erupt with laughter when I gesture that my "usagi" did it. But, I know in telling my story I can help others speak out against fuzzy pet violence.
I ask that you respect my privacy during this difficult time and direct all emails to my publicist or manager. And don't tell me to get her fixed. They dont know what that is in this country.
Sorry, Jon, she chewed a hole in the gift you sent her, to give room for her ears to poke through. And good luck when you come visit next month. Two words: wear pants.