📅 Sunday, 6 September 2026 · No. 158

Away a Week, Missing the Fluffy Butt

🌿 Daily Logs · ✎ 4 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 from Meknes, and I have been away for a week, and I need to say it out loud: I miss the stupid fluffy butt so much. Does he know I love him? Does he think I abandoned him? Surely not. Right? This post is the argument I have been having with myself for seven days, worry by worry, with the rebuttals my calmer self keeps filing from the floor of my own living room.

Worry one: he thinks I left him for good

This is the big one, the one that shows up at midnight. I picture him sitting by the door, ears up, waiting for footsteps that do not come. Rebuttal: the sitter was briefed, the hay was stocked, the camera was checked, and the daily photos show a fluffy goofball sprawled mid-rug, illegally fluffy cutie pie, clearly unbothered. One day away feels the same to me. A week is an eternity to me. To him, judging by the sprawl, it was a week of room service.

Still, I set up the pet camera before I left, the same setup I wrote about in my pet camera nights, what I spotted post, and checking it became my evening ritual on the road. There he was, flopping at the usual hour, grooming the usual foot. The camera never caught him staring at the door. It caught him staring at the hay rack, which is honestly more in character.

Worry two: the routine broke without me

My away log, for the record, looked like this:

Sitter briefed, hay stocked, camera checked before departure
Missed hourly, photographed daily by proxy
Return plan: floor time, treats, full apology tour

I left instructions so detailed the sitter laughed at me, then thanked me, then followed them to the letter. Morning hay, evening greens, water check, litter glance. Rabbits are creatures of rhythm more than of person, and the rhythm held. Rebuttal accepted: the routine survived. It is humbling, how replaceable I am in the hay department. The sitter did my job fine. My job, it turns out, is mostly being furniture he trusts.

Worry three: he forgot me entirely

This one arrived around day five, wearing the disguise of a joke. What if I walk in and he looks at me like a stranger? What if the bond reset? Rebuttal, filed with feeling: I have done the slow work. The bonding dinners, day one, two plates in neutral territory version of me, patient on the floor for weeks, does not get erased by seven days. Trust built crumb by crumb does not wash off in a week. He may punish me with exactly one turned back, held for one hour, because he is dramatic. Then he will demand greens, and the universe will right itself.

Fluffy light brown bunny photographed from the left side sitting on a rug — Fluff from the left.

Close up of a goofy fluffy bunny face with tousled fur — Goofball, confirmed.

There was also the packing, which deserves a line because it tells you everything about my priorities. My own bag took ten minutes. His station took an hour: hay rack filled and spare bag left out, greens list on the fridge with the exact handful size, water bowl scrubbed plus the backup bottle, litter topped up, the camera angled at the rug where he flops, the sitter walked through all of it twice. Anyone watching would think the rabbit was staying and I was the afterthought. They would be right.

Look at these two photos the sitter sent. Left-side fluff, full goofball face. Does that look like a bunny in crisis? That is a bunny with room service and opinions. I missed him hourly. He missed me, at most, at mealtimes, when whoever delivered the greens got the honour of his attention.

Very fluffy bunny with thick long fur resting on soft bedding — Illegal fluff levels.

Sleepy fluffy bunny loafing with half closed eyes in warm light — Missed hourly.

I also worried about the sitter, briefly, on day two. Not their kindness, which was never in doubt, but the small readings: is that sprawl contentment or heat? Is that stillness rest or worry? I sent one anxious message too many and got back a photo of him mid-binky, which is the rabbit equivalent of being told to calm down. Rebuttal accepted with gratitude. The sitter knew him by day three better than some relatives know me.

Worry four: coming home will be awkward

Final worry, and the softest one. I rehearsed the reunion the whole way home: I open the door, he is somewhere unexpected, I sit on the floor, I wait. Rebuttal and verdict together: homecomings are never awkward, only slow. I will sit down, smell like travel and guilt, and offer the good greens. He will inspect me, circle once, and climb aboard like a tiny landlord collecting rent. Home soon, little dude. The hay pile misses you more than I do. Impossible, but it tries.

So the week closes like this. Every worry I carried got answered by evidence, and every answer says the same thing: he was safe, fed, and himself the whole time. I was the one doing the suffering, hourly, from far away. That is the deal with loving a fluffy butt. He naps. You ache. And the reunion, with floor time and treats and the full apology tour, makes all seven days of missing him worth it in about four seconds flat.

🐰

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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