Floppsy

A punter was standing at the buzzer as The Boy and I drove past the tenement the other day, looking for a parking space. I didn't notice, because of the cars parked outside the flat what he must have been carrying...

(Yes. Mysterious, isn't it?)

So we parked and let ourself into the tenement, struggled with our shopping bags and put them down in the hallway so we could search through the junk mail for anything that might be ours. Muffled voices could be heard from within the Hoors flat. Voices which were soon slightly, yet politely raised. We hid on the landing (just to be polite) and continued searching through offers for loans and chocolate that contains negative calories (I kid you not).

"Oh come on. Make an exception just this once..."

The Boy and I shared an amused glance.

"No. I don't think so."

"But Mr Floppsy doesn't like it if he's left outside in the car alone!"

"I don't care! He's not staying in 'ere. Wot if 'e escapes? Anyway. It's a bit distracting innit!"

"I can just leave him out in the hall here. He'll be fine. You won't hear a thing."

"Didn't I just say no?"

"Please?"

"I think you'd better leave."

We tried to look busy and intensely interested in our mail as a sad man in a raincoat left the brothel. With a cage. Containing said Mr Floppsy. Eating a small piece of carrot and twitching his cute little nose. Mr Floppsy the rabbit looked intently at us with his little red eyes as he was carried off, totally oblivious to the dissapointment he'd just caused.

Sometimes the Hoors' job is just plain wierd.

* The names of any rabbit in this story may have been changed to protect the innocent. (Also, Floppsy is a funny name that makes me laugh).

** No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog entry.