I’m home finally, from the great city of Sacramento. You wouldn’t know I’d left by the state of my loft. Wine glasses are still sitting by the sink, along with a bottle that is uncorked but not empty. My fish looks like someone’s been feeding him, and the bed looks recently slept in.

What bothers me is that the thing doing the sleeping is my pet rabbit. I became acutely aware of the problem when I sat down on it and stirred up a cloud of fine gray hair and found the book that I’d been missing, now half eaten. I didn’t say anything to him about it though, because we have a deal: as long as he never misses the litter box, there are no rules.