finding a rabbit than one.
"He's probably around here somewhere," he said, bouncing the basketball off the backboard into the net in a quick, clean one-two from the edge of the sidewalk. "Probably just doing what he has to do."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, look, it's nearly spring, and, according to what you've told me, he just suddenly got up and walked out the door. Except for him walking like he was wearing snowshoes, that sounds perfectly normal to me. For a rabbit, anyway."
"You think he had no choice?" I asked, puzzled.
"Try to think about it like a scientist instead of a pet owner and you'll understand. Rabbits can't help being rabbits, you know."
"I don't get it," I said.
"Where'd you say you kept his cage?" he inquired.
"In my room by the windows," I answered.
"So he was able to see outside, right?"
"That's why I put it there," I said. "I can see the whole backyard from my windows."
"And anything that might have hopped into it," he added, sinking another one with a near-silent swishing sound, signifying a perfect nothing-but-net shot.
"Oh," I said. "I think I'm beginning to understand."
"I'll bet there are lots of rabbits around here. It's a rabbity-looking kind of neighborhood, don't you think?" He smiled at me, then, with an effortless leap, arced the ball high into the air, where it looked like it was going to overshoot, but at the last moment it stopped, fell, spun around the rim and wobbled through the net.
"Well, I have seen other rabbits," I admitted.
"Didn't you tell me that cottontail rabbits only like to be with other rabbits when they're feeding or whenâ"
"Or when it's time to start a family!" I interrupted. "Of course!"
"Bingo!" he exclaimed, surprising me by missing his next shot by more than a foot. He nervously combed his hair with his fingers and grimaced. "Ooops!" he said. "Your turn."
A crash course in philosophy
Everything not only changes, I realized, everything
must
change. It's the Law of Commonplace Events. My plans for my personal career now included becoming a philosopher.
I chose this new path for several reasons. First, being a detective was getting me nowhere. Not only had I not figured out why Orwell came into my life, I had managed to lose the mysterious little rabbit in the process.
Second, I realized that I enjoyed thinking about things more than I enjoyed actually doing things. Some people might call this being lazy, but only because they can't tell how hard my brain is churning while the rest of me is sitting there looking comfortable.
Finally, recent developments in my life had put pressure on my philosophy to undergo some changes, too. This required additional thinking time, time that could most easily be freed up by abandoning my mediocre career in private investigations.
Non regret rien. I have no regrets,
I told myself, demonstrating my revised way of looking at things. Such changes are not only
inevitable,
they are improvements. If we just paid closer attention to the details of our daily lives, nothing that happens to us would surprise us.
Take my father's accident, for example. In hindsight, it had to happen. How long did he think that he could stand on top of a ladder, ignoring the warnings clearly spelled out in orange and black letters on the top step just beneath his foot, and ignoring, too, the natural force of gravity?
"I find it interesting," I told him, practicing my philosophy as I sat beside him in the ambulance en route to the emergency room, "that only one letter separates 'paint' from 'pain.'"
"Please be quiet," my father said.
While my father's foot was being bolted back together, I checked out the hospital cafeteria. Surprisingly, I found it to be a cheerful place, brightly lit, not too crowded, with clean, plastic-topped tables and lots of good food. But, since I hadn't taken much money with me, I had to settle for a little box of Lucky Charms and a half-pint of milk.
I knew when I turned the box around to read the back,
"He's probably around here somewhere," he said, bouncing the basketball off the backboard into the net in a quick, clean one-two from the edge of the sidewalk. "Probably just doing what he has to do."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, look, it's nearly spring, and, according to what you've told me, he just suddenly got up and walked out the door. Except for him walking like he was wearing snowshoes, that sounds perfectly normal to me. For a rabbit, anyway."
"You think he had no choice?" I asked, puzzled.
"Try to think about it like a scientist instead of a pet owner and you'll understand. Rabbits can't help being rabbits, you know."
"I don't get it," I said.
"Where'd you say you kept his cage?" he inquired.
"In my room by the windows," I answered.
"So he was able to see outside, right?"
"That's why I put it there," I said. "I can see the whole backyard from my windows."
"And anything that might have hopped into it," he added, sinking another one with a near-silent swishing sound, signifying a perfect nothing-but-net shot.
"Oh," I said. "I think I'm beginning to understand."
"I'll bet there are lots of rabbits around here. It's a rabbity-looking kind of neighborhood, don't you think?" He smiled at me, then, with an effortless leap, arced the ball high into the air, where it looked like it was going to overshoot, but at the last moment it stopped, fell, spun around the rim and wobbled through the net.
"Well, I have seen other rabbits," I admitted.
"Didn't you tell me that cottontail rabbits only like to be with other rabbits when they're feeding or whenâ"
"Or when it's time to start a family!" I interrupted. "Of course!"
"Bingo!" he exclaimed, surprising me by missing his next shot by more than a foot. He nervously combed his hair with his fingers and grimaced. "Ooops!" he said. "Your turn."
A crash course in philosophy
Everything not only changes, I realized, everything
must
change. It's the Law of Commonplace Events. My plans for my personal career now included becoming a philosopher.
I chose this new path for several reasons. First, being a detective was getting me nowhere. Not only had I not figured out why Orwell came into my life, I had managed to lose the mysterious little rabbit in the process.
Second, I realized that I enjoyed thinking about things more than I enjoyed actually doing things. Some people might call this being lazy, but only because they can't tell how hard my brain is churning while the rest of me is sitting there looking comfortable.
Finally, recent developments in my life had put pressure on my philosophy to undergo some changes, too. This required additional thinking time, time that could most easily be freed up by abandoning my mediocre career in private investigations.
Non regret rien. I have no regrets,
I told myself, demonstrating my revised way of looking at things. Such changes are not only
inevitable,
they are improvements. If we just paid closer attention to the details of our daily lives, nothing that happens to us would surprise us.
Take my father's accident, for example. In hindsight, it had to happen. How long did he think that he could stand on top of a ladder, ignoring the warnings clearly spelled out in orange and black letters on the top step just beneath his foot, and ignoring, too, the natural force of gravity?
"I find it interesting," I told him, practicing my philosophy as I sat beside him in the ambulance en route to the emergency room, "that only one letter separates 'paint' from 'pain.'"
"Please be quiet," my father said.
While my father's foot was being bolted back together, I checked out the hospital cafeteria. Surprisingly, I found it to be a cheerful place, brightly lit, not too crowded, with clean, plastic-topped tables and lots of good food. But, since I hadn't taken much money with me, I had to settle for a little box of Lucky Charms and a half-pint of milk.
I knew when I turned the box around to read the back,
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