The Debonair Bellhop at The Willard

Of course, since a federal government position can take months or years to land, due to both the hiring process and background investigation, Melville sought a more immediate source of cash for his urban extracurriculars.

Notwithstanding having Bronson’s National Identity Card and a  Social Security card counterfeited by clever Harey Potter, Melville sought one further source of ID — his pedigree, the bunny equivalent of a birth certificate. Melville contacted his breeder, who gave him the usual run around: you know I can only issue one pedigree per rabbit. Period. That went to the woman who bought you.

Suppressing a shudder, Melville determined this man who had treated him as chattel would not strong arm him. More composed in his exterior than under his fluffy coat, Melville directed his left ear forward so that the breeder stared into its fleshy interior surface.  Nothing. No tattoo. No pedigree had been issued! “Sir, as you see, I was not a show rabbit. You sold me as a pet rabbit. You did not put your rabbitry brand on me so of course you wouldn’t just give away the pedigree information. But I require it to track down family and complete a medical history with the vet.”

Some stern exchanges followed. Melville at times wanted desperately to flee, but he stood his ground. Ultimately, every man has his price, and the breeder was no exception. Handing over some of the precious proceeds from Bronson’s estate, Melville secured a pedigree, ceremoniously stamped with a paw print as the guarantee of Melville’s unique identity.

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