The Constant Rabbit

Pippa & Pasta

‘Rabbit Underground’ was the broad term used to describe any clandestine rabbit direct action protest group. Many suggested it might not actually exist at all, and simply be an invention by the Minister for Rabbit Affairs to further demonise the rabbit – and to justify extra funding for the Taskforce.

‘Is it the self-same rabbit who was so disrespectful to dear wifey in the library?’ asked Victor Mallett when I found him handing out poorly photocopied leaflets in the public bar of the Unicorn.

‘It looks like it.’

‘I told you she looked like trouble – we should regard that library book she borrowed as stolen, and that clearly shows a pattern of criminal behaviour that we can only ignore at our peril. I thought you said she was just passing through?’

‘I thought she was. Major Rabbit served with the British Army,’ I added, in order to win Victor over, as I knew he was a supporter of the forces, but had not served himself. ‘They both strike me as decent people.’

‘Obviously we are grateful for his committed service in defence of our nation,’ said Mr Mallett, ‘and yes, they might be individually good neighbours and in time make a positive contribution to the community. There are always the good ones. But you’re missing the big picture. Once you let a single family in, then the downward spiral begins. Other rabbits of less scrupulous morals move in – and following them, the criminal element.’

‘Criminal element?’ I asked. ‘Like what?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘stealing library books, for one. But make no mistake,’ he added with renewed enthusiasm, ‘this is the thin end of the wedge. Let one family in and pretty soon they’ll all be here, filling up the schools, attempting to convert us all to their uniquely aggressive form of veganism, undermining our worthy and utterly logical religion with their depraved and nonsensical faith – and then placing an intolerable burden on our already weakened infrastructure. Also,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘it could negatively impact on our chance to win a Spick & Span award.’

‘And once they’ve established themselves,’ added Norman Mallett, who had been sitting at the bar and up until now had remained silent, ‘their friends and relatives start to swarm in. Pretty soon you won’t be able to move in Much Hemlock for rabbits. House prices will tumble, and we’ll be strangers in our own community. It will be like Ross-on-Wye all over again.’

‘Aye,’ said Victor, shaking his head, ‘a plague.’

‘Are you thinking of raising a petition?’ I asked, fully aware of Mr Mallett’s usual modus operandi.

‘Already started one,’ he replied cheerfully, waving one of the flyers at me, which screamed of a ‘potential disaster of massive proportions’ in the village.

‘As a member of the Rabbit Compliance Taskforce,’ I said, trying to de-escalate the situation, ‘I should point out that legal off-colony rabbits have a right to live anywhere, and we could be making a whole heap of trouble for ourselves if we break the law. Harassing the widow of someone who was jugged in error by TwoLegsGood isn’t going to play well if the newspapers get hold of it.’

‘I fully appreciate what you’re saying, Peter,’ he said, which was Mallett shorthand for ‘I would utterly reject what you’re saying if I were listening, which I’m not’, ‘and all I want to do is raise awareness,’ which was, again, Mr Mallett’s shorthand for ‘I think I’ll stir up a whole heap of trouble and hope that in the ensuing scrum I’ll get what I want but not be held accountable for it’. He went on: ‘We must remain utterly vigilant at all times, and I’ll be honest, Peter, I didn’t have you pegged as a friend to rabbits.’

‘I’m not,’ I said, ‘I just want to caution you against any extreme behaviour that might not reflect well upon the village.’

‘But the good news,’ said Norman, also not listening, ‘is that MegaWarren is on schedule, and will give rabbits what they need most of all: a place of their own. With a bit of luck all the legals will want to go there too – rabbit nirvana, I heard someone call it. Freedom to burrow and grow lettuce and … do whatever it is rabbits like to do. I think you’ll find that Rehoming them all in Wales is the best and most lasting solution to the rabbit issue. Besides, it was all agreed by referendum, then properly debated in the House. The nation has spoken.’

MegaWarren had always been controversial, but after the referendum never in doubt, even though the ‘Rehoming rabbits in Wales’ policy was won on a slender majority and with half the country not voting at all. But Norman was right. The ten-thousand-acre site located just to the west of Rhayader was nearing completion, although moving the regional colonies to one centralised home was decidedly not something the rabbits much liked the sound of, especially those with a grounding in human history, which generally presented a ‘low to extremely low’ expectation of anything turning out well where enforced removals were concerned.

‘But,’ said Victor, returning to the question of Hemlock Towers, ‘we have one thing in our favour: the old Beeton place is only to be rented. If they move in, they can just as easily move out. Can I rely on your support to not support them? You’ll be living next door, after all.’

‘I’ll take a leaflet,’ I said diplomatically, ‘but I have to remain neutral due to my work at RabCoT.’

‘Stout fellow. Give my very best to Pip, won’t you?’

‘I shall.’

Pippa was at the kitchen table when I got home and had her nose in a book while at the same time eating yoghurt, texting someone – probably Sally – and keeping a watchful eye on a Netflix series on her iPad. When I was twenty I had trouble doing one thing at a time. I still do.

‘Hey, Dad,’ she said.

‘How’s it going?’ I asked.

‘I’m learning HR jargon and can’t decide which phrase I dislike more: Game changer, Onboarding or Going forward.’

‘Blue sky thinking was always the one I disliked most.’

‘That became too clichéd even for management-speak,’ she replied, ‘along with Thinking out of the box and We need a paradigm shift. They were all officially retired last year. How was your day?’

‘Usual fun and games. But more importantly: rabbits are moving in next door.’

‘I heard something about that,’ said Pippa, ‘but if I was a rabbit family moving anywhere, it wouldn’t be to the sort of village that sent troops to fight in the Spanish Civil War – on General Franco’s side.’

‘The village is not that bad,’ I said, ‘and I think mostly it’s just bluster. How many residents do you suppose have even spoken to a rabbit who wasn’t a barista, room cleaner or shelf-stacker?’

‘Prejudice is best lubricated with ignorance,’ said Pippa. ‘What do you think the bigot-in-chief is going to say about it?’

I placed Mr Mallett’s leaflet in front of her, then stared out of the window at Hemlock Towers opposite. ‘I think he’s going to whip up some anti-rabbit feeling and make life so unbearable they’ll move out.’

‘I dislike his politics but can’t fault him on his use of the semi-colon,’ said Pippa, scanning the pamphlet. ‘It’s a good job he rarely travels farther than Hereford. Containment is the best policy for people like him.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It also works wonders with Ebola. Did you hear anything else about the rabbits? Mrs Griswold’s intel was pretty sketchy.’

‘Mr Rabbit is a retired army major and Mrs Rabbit an actress,’ said Pippa.

‘Really? Was she in anything I might have seen?’

‘I don’t know – commercials, someone said, a small part in Pulp Fiction but she didn’t make it to the final cut.’

‘That’s interesting,’ I said, as I knew Connie had been keen on drama. She’d done a cracking audition as Shelley Levene in Barnstaple Uni’s production of Glengarry Glen Ross, but was rejected as the director wanted someone ‘more male and less furry’.

‘And Major Rabbit, is it?’ I added.

‘Yup. Almost served in Afghanistan, they say.’