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The story of Mister Whiskers began on a clear spring afternoon in Rochester, New York. A two man mow crew was going about its usual Monday routine, when a certain worker (who will remain nameless) came to a swing set in a backyard. He trimmed all the grass that the mower could not get to, reaching the trimmer far into the depths of the treacherous structure. He neglected one very far reaching corner however, and he noticed this when he came back to the swing set to blow off the dead grass. Blasts of cold air whisked the clumps of grass into a feverish frenzy, dancing in the light spring air. The nameless employee pointed the blower toward the clump in the corner, and to his surprise, it blew right away, leaving uncovered a nest of about a half dozen newborn baby rabbits. Initially thinking they were mice, he turned away in disgust, but then upon closer inspection, the long eared fellows captured the heart of the young lawnsman. After a brief conference with his partner, the two decided it would be a good idea to take home one of the rabbits, and raise him as a pet, for if not for the worker’s lackadaisical trimming effort, the entire pack could very well be dead. They decided to call him Mister Whiskers, named both after Brandon Rothschild’s Dad and Rachel’s hairless cat on “Friends.” Mister Whiskers was put in the worker’s lunch pail and rode in the truck for the rest of the afternoon. He was fed blades of grass and crumbs of cookies, but did not take to either. His main activities for the afternoon consisted of closing his eyes, and sitting in a spread eagle position. He couldn’t really grasp the concept of walking, but rather slid around inside the lunch box. Somehow, Mister Whiskers survived the entire afternoon of mowing, and accompanied the worker home in the evening. After some quick Google research, a trip to the pet store was made to obtain a cage, some simulated breast milk, some Pedialyte, and a feeding bottle. The worker, his friends, and family, all pitched in to help feed Mister Whiskers, a task that was not nearly as easy as it sounds. Mister Whiskers showed his fighting side as he resisted the feeding bottle with all his strength, turning his head violently and kicking away in the worker’s hands. Eventually he warmed up to the feeding methods and gulped back the concoction. In the morning, the worker came downstairs to see if Mister Whiskers was still alive. There he was, curled up in the corner of his cage, breathing gently, as peaceful as could be. He took another feeding, and was rewarded with some supermodel trading cards, which were taped to his cage. As Mister Whiskers ogled the beauties, he was brought (cage and all) to come on another day of mowing. It was decided that the cage would be too bulky to carry in the truck all day, so Mister Whiskers went back into the lunch box to endure another day of hot sun, Marlboro Lights, and “Donovan’s Greatest Hits.” This second day on the road, Mister Whiskers thrived. He reluctantly took food from his bottle, and was very active, scampering around inside the lunch box and in the workers’ hands and laps between stops. Nodding his head in rhythm with Donovan’s words, “You got to pick out every stitch, the rabbit’s running in the ditch, Must be the season of the witch,” this rabbit was truly loving life on the road. Yes, the second day was a great day for Mister Whiskers. When the two workers returned to the shop after a long day of mowing, they were eager to return Mister Whiskers to his spacious cage, which remained in the car. Back with his bathing beauties, Mister Whiskers smiled and eagerly anticipated the next day on the road. The worker closed the door, hummed a tune, and grabbed a cold one. As the two young workers chatted and drank their beers, they thought about how great it would be to watch Mister Whiskers continue to grow. After one beer, the second worker decided to go back for another. It was his birthday, after all. “Hey, maybe you should open a window for Mister Whiskers,” he suggested. “Nah, we’ll be leaving soon,” the other replied. “He’ll be fine.” After struggling through the Molson XXX, the workers walked over to the car, and to their surprise and horror, Mister Whiskers lie motionless. “He’s just sleeping,” they optimistically thought. Unfortunately, they were wrong. Mister Whiskers lay there stiff as a board. The workers rode home in silence, as J. Frank Wilson’s “Last Kiss” fittingly played on 107.7, The Lake. “Oh where oh where could my bunny be, the Lord took him away from me, he’s gone to heaven so I’ve got to be good, so I can see my bunny when I leave this world.” |
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