📅 Wednesday, 1 July 2026 · No. 99

Game Night With a Card Chewer

🌿 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.

Final score: Bunny 12, Humans 0, Game Integrity retired hurt. Welcome to the match report from cards night here in Meknes, where a rabbit supervisor inspected every card, sniffed the whole deck, and chewed selected pieces with the focus of a champion. The game lasted twenty minutes. The memories will last years. Fun thing, would play again, and this post is the official record: pre-game setup, round-by-round action, the statistics table, and the post-game interview with the undefeated card chewer.

Pre-game: the lineup

Conditions were perfect: evening lamp, floor cushions, a low table within bunny reach, which was the first tactical error. The human team fielded two players and one full deck. The bunny team fielded one supervisor with four paws, two ears, and teeth that had been waiting all day for exactly this opportunity. House rules were agreed before kickoff and deserve recording for future fixtures. Sacrificial cards would be dealt to the bunny first as a decoy. The real hand would be kept at height, with a strict chew zone below table level. And someone would photograph the chewer mid-crime, because history demands evidence. The deck was shuffled, the supervisor circled the table once, and the whistle blew when a nose touched the first card.

Round one: the sniff inspection

Round one belonged to quality control. Every card dealt was sniffed on both sides before being accepted onto the floor, and three were flipped over for a second opinion. Play slowed to a crawl as the humans waited for the inspector to clear each trick. Spectators, meaning me with the camera, noted the technique: nose down, ears forward, full commitment to each card. Zero cards chewed in round one, which in hindsight was clearly reconnaissance. The humans completed one full hand and felt confident. Confidence, as the later rounds proved, was premature. Similar slow-evening mischief fills my notes on how I decorated the tunnel toy, where inspection also preceded destruction, and I should have recognized the pattern.

Round two: the chewing begins

Round two is when game integrity collapsed. The supervisor seized a discarded card from the chew zone, tested one corner, found it satisfactory, and upgraded to full chewing within seconds. The humans attempted to continue the real game at height while the bunny worked below, and for five glorious minutes both games ran in parallel: strategy above, confetti below. Then the supervisor stood up, front paws on the table edge, and claimed a live card straight from a human hand. The table erupted. The card was recovered with a new scalloped edge that I have kept as a trophy. Chew count at the end of round two: four cards damaged, one retired, crowd delight immeasurable.

Halftime: the crowd goes wild

Halftime deserves recording because the crowd, all two humans, laughed until the cards shook. The supervisor used the break to binky the full length of the room, ears up, feet flicked, a victory lap for an athlete who had already won. The low table was surveyed from above, the deck box was sniffed and rejected as inedible equipment, and the sacrificial pile was counted with a serious nose. Strategy talk on the human bench centered on damage control: sleeve the good cards, keep score in pencil since the pen had been sniffed, and accept that photography mattered more than points. The second half began with the bunny already in position, seated on the best cards like a hen on eggs, daring the dealer to deal around him.

Round three and the statistics table

Cards sniffed	Every single one in play
Cards chewed	Six, plus two corners
Human hands completed	One and a half
Binkies during play	Three, all celebratory
Game pieces lost	One card, framed
Fun gained	Immeasurable, unanimous

Round three was pure exhibition. The humans stopped pretending and dealt the remaining sacrificial cards directly to the supervisor, who processed them like a tiny paper shredder while the room applauded. One card escaped under the couch and became a tomorrow problem. The evening ended with the chewer flopped across the discarded deck like a dragon on gold, daring anyone to deal another hand. House precedent for couch-adjacent chaos is well documented in my couch time rules for the home, and tonight earned a new clause: cards stay in the box until the bunny naps. The scoreboard does not lie. The humans lost the game and won the evening.

Post-game interview and verdict

Asked for comment, the supervisor sniffed the pen, chewed the notebook corner, and fell asleep on the scorecard, which I take as a full and gracious statement. Mine just chews the cards, and honestly I would play with a bunny like that again every week, probably twice a week. Game piece lost: one. Fun gained: immeasurable. Fair trade, signed by all parties, sealed with a nose print on the ruined card. Next fixture is already scheduled, the deck now includes designated bunny cards, and the trophy shelf holds one scalloped rectangle that no visitor is allowed to throw away. Bunny twelve, humans zero, rematch demanded.

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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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