Bruno fell asleep

Bruno’s writer friend’s short stories are figments of his imagination. They are well-written, entertaining, and often titillating. In his view, short stories should be easy to read, fun, and quickly forgotten. Nothing more.
Bruno likes his pieces to contain a “message” and make the reader think. He writes from his own experiences, real-life observations, inspired by historical events, mythology and classics to present the message through allegories. Some are better written in first person singular by Bruno Mayer himself, while others are better written by the “writer” looking from outside in. Since Elsa calls Bruno’s thinking escapades musings, he decided on a pseudonym, Ada Muser.

Although these two methods of building stories seem irreconcilably different, Bruno wonders if it is possible to use his friend’s approach and still have a “message.”

*****
Bruno fell asleep and dreamed he was Misha, a rabbit with front paws instead of hands, no clothes but fur, and sporting a cute white tail curved upwards in the back. He is so tiny and vulnerable! Approaching from the back alley, he faces an impossibly high fence and a gate, with the latch so far up he can hardly see it, and much less open it. Fortunately, a dip in the ground under the gate forms a hole big enough to squeeze through.

He finds a beautiful yard on the other side. Much of it is covered by a large wooden patio, a low-to-the-ground wooden structure. From his little bunny viewpoint, it looks like a huge apartment building with many levels, and a labyrinth of hiding and safe places. An overhang on the north side forms an eve above the entrance. Two flat stones keep the entranceway clean from dirt and mud. He decides to move in.
Misha is now sharing the low patio with tenants who lived there before he was born. They are small, cuddly field mice, and good company. They are very fidgety, fearing the same enemies, and are good neighbours, although they sometimes pilfer Misha’s food. An easy-going relationship provides a sense of security for everyone, as they alert each other when a predator is spotted.
The next part of the patio is one step higher because the terrain is uneven. It is a narrow, long passageway to an even higher level next to the main building. It has a separate entrance from Misha’s new lodgings, conveniently small for anyone bigger than him to get through. It is also a safe route to the other end of the yard, perfect for moving unobserved. Misha runs at high speed over the open field between two entrances. Sometimes he sleeps in this less drafty hallway, or runs through to the other end of the yard and slips under the neighbour’s patio to enjoy the warmth from the hot tub they have above.

The garden is a smorgasbord of bunny food: grass, clover, creeping jennies, and hen and chicks are tasty and filling. Large creatures live in the main house. Misha is still very young and is only now realizing the world is full of them. They are also animals, but much larger, walk on their hind legs, and wear rugs instead of fur. He does not know they are called people. A huge, dangerous world exists beyond, with more of these creatures walking back and forth on their two legs. How do they do it, Misha wonders? They are usually accompanied by dogs that seem domesticated, yet are kept on leashes. That is good!

On the hard, flat strips of land on both sides of the garden run foul-smelling monsters on four wheels. They are swift, faster than Misha can run. He worries about getting hurt.
He is happy that the large house creatures seem to like him. The taller one is louder and makes deeper sounds when he opens his mouth, while the other one, much prettier, emits higher and more pleasant sounds. It seems to be the kinder one. He decides to call them Dad and Mom. Misha learned he is safe when they are around. Not even the big bad cat Ozzie from across the street dares to come. He is glad Dad and Mom are as big as they are; it is nice to have powerful protectors.

In the fall, Dad and Mom sit in chairs on the patio literally above his head, and make light in a funny-looking metal contraption. It is a round, bulky ball on three legs. On top of it sits a chimney from which fog-like vapours called smoke escape. It smells nice. They call it “The Chimenea.” When lit, it makes crackling sounds and it gets warmer outside. The whole scene is always so quiet and peaceful. Dad and Mom hold glasses with either red or white liquids in them and talk quietly. He comes out from underneath and sits at a safe distance, posing for pictures. It seems to make his friends happy, and they would reward him with treats.

The seasons changed rapidly, and Misha felt the bright white powder cold to the touch for the first time. It is snow. Misha appreciates that Dad sweeps snow away from his garden to make pathways so he can keep running about at high speeds. Mom or Dad bring him fresh food twice a day. It is an aromatic hay, flower petals, clover collected in the neighbourhood, and other treats. It is against the rules of nature, of course, but it is nice. He is now officially just a semi-wild animal. Misha’s fur has not turned white, but light greyish blending well with the background. It is nicely fluffy, ending in an almost white, little, cute tail. It is often cold out there. On the most miserable days, he does not want to go out at all. Then he is grateful for the food Mom or Dad put on the flat stones of his entrance under the little canopy, so he can just stick his nose out into the cold and…

*****
Bruno woke up. There was a moment of confusion, as is often the case when waking up from a vivid dream. He looked at his hands and was relieved they were not paws. If he still had a cute white tail curved upwards in the back, he was not sure. In the following four days, Misha did not show up, worrying his Dad and Mom sick. On the fifth day, Bruno went downstairs to make a coffee, knowing that the kitchen window provides the best vantage point for “Misha sighting.” The early morning semidarkness, around 8:00 am is when Misha usually shows up. One January morning, when the temperature was hovering around minus 22 degrees Celsius, he finally made an appearance. There he was, in front of his house under the overhang, munching on a long stem of dried clover, his head sunk into his dense winter fur as low as could go, for warmth. It is not easy to be wild. Occasionally, he would sit up to make his eyes level with the patio deck to make sure there was no predator in sight. All was well!