📅 Monday, 10 August 2026 · No. 134

Bobbit the Wire Nibbler (Two Cords Down)

🏠 Home Setup · ✎ 6 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, writing from Meknes, and I must ask you to dress respectfully, because we are gathered here to mourn. Two extension cords and one laptop charger, all taken before their time, all gone within the first two months of Bobbit moving in. They served faithfully. They carried current. They were, in the end, delicious. The accused sits among us today, small, fluffy, entirely unrepentant, and I will ask him to remain silent during the proceedings, which suits him, since his only statement so far has been an angry face photographed at the scene. Dearly beloved, we are gathered to remember the fallen spaghetti and to admit whose fault this really is.

Remembering the Fallen: A Cord-by-Cord Tribute

Extension Cord One was the first to go, and I remember it fondly. It stretched from the wall to my desk lamp, a humble servant, and I left it trailing across the floor for five hours while running on almost no sleep. Bobbit found it in minutes. The marks were clean, surgical, the work of a craftsman discovering his calling. I found him sitting beside it with hay on his whiskers and ambition in his eyes. Cord One is survived by its plug, which I kept as a memento, and by my lesson, which I did not learn fast enough. Rest in pieces, old friend. You lit my evenings and, briefly, his.

Extension Cord Two followed a week later, and here the eulogy must be honest: this one was my fault twice over. I had read the guides, I had nodded along, and I still left a cord within reach because I was tired and told myself it would be fine for one evening. It was not fine. Bobbit, now experienced, worked faster, and by morning the cord had the unmistakable tooth-notches of a repeat artist. I stood in the kitchen holding the two halves and laughed in the particular way of a man who knows the funeral director is himself. Cord Two is survived by a power strip I should have bought sooner and by a rabbit whose resume now reads specialist in cable management, removal division.

The laptop charger was the tragedy that filled the chapel. It was expensive, it was essential, and it died two days before a deadline, which meant I wrote half a week’s work in cafes while Bobbit napped at home, free and unbothered. I allow myself one serious sentence in this comedy of a service: chewed cords can be dangerous for rabbits as well as electronics, and I am only his human, not a vet, so after the charger incident I called my vet for guidance and checked him over carefully instead of assuming all was well. He was eating and moving about as usual that morning, and I still wanted professional reassurance. The clinic answered kindly. The patient bit a willow stick during the call, possibly in protest.

The Widower’s Confession

Every eulogy needs honesty, so here is mine: I was sleep-deprived, overconfident, and slow to rabbit-proof, and Bobbit was simply being a rabbit. Chewing is what he does; it is how he explores, trims his teeth, and files complaints about boredom. Blaming him would be like blaming rain for being wet. The guilty party in this chapel is the tall one in the back holding the bitter spray. I left the spaghetti out. He tested it. The spaghetti failed inspection. Once I accepted this, grief turned into planning, which is the healthiest thing grief can do when the deceased are electronics and the bereaved owns a screwdriver.

The congregation may wonder about the angry face in the program photograph. When I removed the remaining cords, Bobbit sat in the middle of the rug with his ears flat and his eyes narrowed, radiating the fury of a chef whose favorite restaurant has closed. Why he angy, my sister asked when I sent the picture. Because the spaghetti got taken away, I said, and because the replacement menu of willow sticks and apple twigs had not yet earned his respect. He made plans; I could see it. I made covers. The arms race of our household entered its second phase, and I am pleased to report that my side has started winning, mostly by removing the battlefield entirely.

The Burial Rites: Covers, Lifts, and Willow Sticks

We laid the old ways to rest with a full ceremony of home improvement. All cords in Bobbit’s territory were lifted off the floor, threaded through hard plastic covers, or moved behind furniture he cannot reach. The desk area got a proper cable box. The charger now lives on a high shelf and travels in a bag. Bitter spray went on the few immovable cables as a backup singer, not the star. And crucially, the expensive spaghetti was replaced on the menu with willow sticks, woven grass mats, and cardboard tunnels, an all-you-can-chew buffet that costs less than one charger. His teeth are busy. My outlets are intact. The house is at peace, more or less.

I found comfort in discovering that my war is a common one. Reading notes from another owner whose rabbits eat every flooring made me laugh with recognition: the species has opinions about interior design and expresses them with incisors. I also borrowed ideas from descriptions of stacking cups and snuffle mats as play, and Bobbit now has puzzle feeders that keep his clever brain employed. A busy rabbit is a gentler critic of my wiring. Enrichment, I have learned, is not a luxury; it is cord insurance with a toy attached.

Benediction and the Baseboard Front

And so we close the service with honest news from the front. Cord losses this month stand at zero, a record I report with pride and suspicion in equal measure. Bobbit has pivoted to baseboards, gnawing one corner with the focus of a scholar preparing a thesis, and the war continues on this new front with bitter spray and extra toys deployed. He is not bad; he is busy, bright, and built to chew, and my job is to aim that energy at willow instead of wiring. I visit the graves of the fallen cords only when I need motivation to tidy up.

Go in peace, beloved spaghetti. Your sacrifice purchased wisdom, cable covers, and a very stocked toy box. Bobbit remains the Wire Nibbler in title only these days, retired like a champion, photographed mid-yawn instead of mid-crime. I remain his human, his electrician, and his biggest admirer, sleep-deprived no longer and quicker with the covers. The chapel doors are closing. The willow sticks are served. May your connections stay covered and your chargers stay high, and may every angry face soften, as his finally did, into a flop.

🐰

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.

← prev / next →Accidentally Won a Rabbit (Learning Fast)Wicker Toys Are Treats, Not Toys