My Mommy's Not a Mitten!

A murder occurred yesterday. It wasn’t violent – no blood, no guts, no gore – and perhaps it wasn’t even painful (although I could feel my insides crumple and burn when you slit her throat). But regardless of how humane her death was (or was not), and to how far of an extent she truly did suffer (which stands to be debated), only one thing is certain: my mother (my superhero and best friend in the entire universe) is dead – and you killed her.

            The last time I saw her alive, she kissed me quickly on the cheek and told me to hide; she knew you were coming – her ears could hear everything. But when I saw (from my secret place behind the bushes) those long, floppy ears fall limply to the ground, my heart stopped, and I couldn’t breathe. Those intricate, now lifeless ears were the same ones I had been whispering hundreds of secrets into since I could speak – and you destroyed them with a single swipe of your knife.

            I almost cried next when my mommy’s nose came falling down, so pink and round, and still slightly moist. She used to kiss me with that nose; gently, she’d move it back and forth across my face, telling me that she loved me until I’d giggle in delight. I’ll admit that it did embarrass me a little bit (boys aren’t supposed to like mushy stuff, you know), but after seeing her nose cut so harshly from the rest of her face, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for another one of my mom’s wet, mushy kisses.

            But you don’t care about my mommy. You won’t give a second thought to how she used to comfort me whenever I had a nightmare, or hold my hand when I was scared. It doesn’t matter to you that she hugged me when I had a bad day, or made me laugh when I was sad, or held me when I cried. Even though I will never be able to say “I love you” again to my mother, your life is still completely unaffected. To you, I am a rabbit and you are a trapper – that’s all that really matters.

            But as you were preparing to leave, with my mom’s fur grasped tightly in your hands, I overheard you say to a man who was with you,

            “A lot of it was unusable, but I think this rabbit’s still got enough fur for a mitten.”

            Well sir, you may have stolen this rabbit’s life, and unrightfully taken this rabbit’s fur, but this rabbit is certainly no mitten. This rabbit is my mommy!