(This is the fifth story in a week or so of repeats. “Angora rabbit” first appeared on this blog on 7 May 2014.)
Anton had a cat. The neighbour had a beautiful white angora rabbit. The rabbit was in its hutch. The cat was free.
One day the neighbour was at work, and Anton’s cat turned up on Anton’s doorstep with the rabbit. It was dead. The rabbit was larger than the cat. The cat had dragged the rabbit through the mud.
Anton panicked. He washed the dead rabbit’s angora fur thoroughly; hair shampoo and all. He dried it with a hair dryer. The rabbit looked as good as new, but dead. Anton crept over to the neighbour’s place, and put the dead rabbit back in its hutch.
Several days later, Anton chattered to the neighbour over the fence. This was the dreaded moment.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” said the neighbour. “My rabbit died.”
“Did it?” said Anton, feigning surprise.
“I buried it in the garden,” said the neighbour.
“Poor thing,” said Anton. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s not all,” said the neighbour. “After I buried it, I came home from work and it was lying dead back in its hutch.”