📅 Wednesday, 26 August 2026 · No. 148

Spay Suit Days: Professor in Green

📓 My Tracker · ✎ 5 min · by Azmi in Meknes

Azmi's note My personal log from Meknes, not vet advice. Just what I did and saw tonight.

I am Azmi, reporting from my apartment in Meknes, where the most exclusive fashion week of the season just closed. One model. One look. One very small runway between the couch and the hay rack. Professor Plum steps out in green, a little recovery jumper worn with total dignity, and the front row, which is me with a camera, forgets how to breathe. Cute hardly covers it.

The garment is a soft green suit, neat at the shoulders, gentle around the middle, with the thighs out in a way the professor carries off with pride intact. Recovery in progress, style fully present. I have seen rabbits look grumpy in cones and ear-coverings, tugging and sulking, but she wears this piece like it was tailored for her, which in a way it was, chosen carefully for these exact days.

Collection notes: the green jumper

Let us start with the fabric, because every serious review starts there. The material looks breathable and light, with enough stretch that she moves, flops, and reaches her hay without any pinching I could see. The color is a confident leafy green that sets off her fur beautifully. Green suits everybunny, I wrote in my first note, and a week of looking at her has only confirmed the verdict.

I am not a vet, so everything about recovery routines and checkups I run past my vet in Meknes first, and I follow their guidance exactly. My role during these suit days is simple and non-medical: keep her space calm, keep fresh hay and water close, keep the floor clean, and watch quietly so I can report anything that seems different to my vet without delay.

Front row observations

From my seat on the floor, the show unfolds in small moments. Morning: the professor emerges from her hide, stretches one leg at a time, and settles by the hay rack for breakfast, suit smooth, ears up. Midday: a long rest, flat on her side, breathing slow, the green fabric rising and falling like a tiny blanket. Evening: a careful stroll to the water bowl, a pause to survey the room, and a look that says the show is going well.

My recovery wardrobe log from those days reads like a critic’s notebook. Suit on: calm, mobile, eating with appetite. Rest pattern: long naps broken by short, steady wandering. Mood: dignified with flashes of comedy, especially when she tries to groom around the jumper and gives me an offended stare. I wrote it all down because details blur fast, and I wanted an honest record of how she carried herself.

The fit: neat at the shoulders with room to move and rest
The walk: slow runway laps between hide, hay, and water
The attitude: calm professionalism with occasional dramatic sighs

Styling verdict: superhero or wrestler

The original post asked the essential question: ready for a superhero career or wrestling, probably both. After a full week of observation, my ruling is both, on alternating days. On sleepy days she is a caped hero resting between missions, the green suit standing in for the cape. On bolder days she is a tiny wrestler entering the ring, thighs out, head high, daring the living room to bring its best.

Accessories are minimal, as good styling demands. A clean floor. A low-sided hide with a soft blanket. Hay within easy reach so the star never has to travel far. I kept her carrier ready too, the way I always do during delicate weeks, following the same grab-first checklist I worked out in my carrier packing list for trips when we must leave fast. Having that bag by the door lets me enjoy the show instead of worrying about logistics.

Quiet evenings became our best viewings. She would settle near me while I read, the green jumper bright against the blanket, and simply rest, the way rabbits do when the house feels safe. Those couch-side hours reminded me of the evenings I described in my notes on blanket evenings with one very serious viewer. Same blanket, same peace, only now the viewer is also the runway star.

The professor rests, the diary watches

What I loved most was her composure. She accepted the suit, accepted the smaller space, accepted my constant hovering with the patience of a professional. When I lifted the camera, she held still. When I set it down, she went back to her hay. Dignity is a strange word for a rabbit in a green jumper, but no other word fits. She had it from the first fitting to the last.

Friends who saw the photos asked where the collection would go next, and my answer is nowhere fancy. The jumper gets washed, folded, and stored where I can find it, the photos go into the diary, and the professor goes back to her regular wardrobe, which is simply herself. Fashion weeks end. The model remains, unimpressed by applause, already asking about dinner.

Final look: impeccable, as noted

Recovery style: impeccable, I wrote at the time, and I stand by every word. The green suited her, the days passed gently, and the diary watched over all of it with tea in hand and camera ready. If any reader finds themselves dressing a rabbit in similar days, my only fashion advice is the same as my care advice: let your vet direct every decision, keep the star comfortable, and applaud quietly from the front row. The professor has left the runway, and the house feels both calmer and slightly less glamorous without her daily show.

🐰

Written by Azmi

I track my rabbits' diet, weight and naps to see what works. Photos are mine, mess included. Say hi on the contact page.

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