Miffy Is Missing

"Home"....

The word seemed to resonate within the tiny interior of Muffy's skull, like a long-forgotten mantra that had through endlessly-repeated recitations, lost its true meaning. She had woken up that morning and peered through her frayed net curtains, strung across the side of her custom-built burrow, and sighed when she slowly remembered who she was, and where she was.

It was just another morning, and she had woken up late. That night she had dreamed of Miffy, who had cheekily tweaked her yellow flower when she asked her what was on her mind. Her dear sister rarely spoke; in fact, it was often difficult to ascertain where her mouth even was - in that blank, white, expressionless face. Miffy had been so difficult to decipher. And suddenly, one morning, an ordinary morning just like this one - Miffy disappeared. She left no trace apart from a few muddy pawprints in the shower. The sight was simply heart-rending. For days afterwards, Muffy could not step into the shower without recalling those prints, the only evidence there remained that she had ever shared her burrow with another rabbit.

"I don't suppose Miffy had ever considered this home", she mused, as she stretched her paws which almost touched the ceiling. Their burrow was small, but comfortable - she had not wanted much more than that, and to her, it had always been home. But lately, since Miffy's disappearance, she had felt this sense of belonging less and less; it was as if Miffy had spirited away her own sense of "home" with her. Perhaps, she mused, as she chewed on her mashed-carrot-on-toast, Home was really where Miffy was. The great outdoors. She often wondered where her sister was, prancing about in the sun. She'd always been a flighty one, that Miffy. Perhaps it was that suspicious-looking photographer whom she'd been flirting and dallying with a month or two before she disappeared. Muffy didn't trust the male of the species, not since Horace the Hare left their burrow with all their joint belongings, leaving behind only the carrot-grater, because it was too large to fit through the hole of their burrow (he had clearly left in a hurry). It was strange too, as Horace had loved the grater since finding it abandoned in a field. He had dismantled it and re-assembled it to fit in the burrow, and it was his pride and joy - although Muffy herself had hated the carbuncle every time she had to squeeze past it and felt its sharp edges skim over her fur. She had rarely used it to grate their carrots. It was just bloody hares, and their obsession with big, useless things....
And after the initial shock, she was glad Horace was gone because she had never liked his smell, nor the way he thumped his foot.

But then Miffy, well she was different. She was a joy to be around. The mere recollection of her sister caused Muffy's heart a sudden pain. No, no, she would not think of Miffy. There were other things to do. And the food-gathering to be done, before it got too hot outside. Muffy peered out through the net curtains again, her beady little eyes clouding with tears. She had never really questioned herself what had caused Miffy to just leave without a word. Perhaps, lurking behind that mute, white and fluffy exterior, there was a Rampant Rabbit, eager to burst out. The mere thought caused Muffy to quake, no, reverberate in horror. Who had the power to tease an alter-ego like that out of her mild-mannered sister? The photographer! Of course... it was probably him all along.