The Wabbit gets a Surprise Meal

The Wabbit was definitely hungry. He had hopped all around and the extra items in his bag had not made it any lighter. “I have too much baggage,” said the Wabbit sagely to himself. With some time on his paws, he was nearing the Big Railway Station. So he wandered into the back streets, to an area that had been recommended by his friend Antiqicat on a previous trip. He soon found himself in the Ghetto di Roma. “This is a very interesting place,” thought the Wabbit. “And the food smells delicious.” So he hopped on a fence for a better look and an even better sniff. The Wabbit could smell heavenly artichokes and his very favourite sliced carrots. “Gnam, gnam,” thought the Wabbit. Then the Wabbit heard a voice and murmured to himself, “Where’s that voice coming from?” He was always asking himself questions. “The kitchen, Wabbit.” The Wabbit didn’t think he had spoken out loud. “People can even hear me think now," thought the Wabbit. “Time for a snack,” said the voice. “I’ll bring something out. I have wafer thin strips of artichokes with side tubers, your favourite carrot strips on a bed of grass and some fresh water.” The Wabbit sat on the fence and tucked in. And what he didn’t eat, he tucked away in the small space that was left in his bag. Sated, the Wabbit hopped to the station and quietly boarded the train for Turin.

The Wabbit encounters the poorly constructed Graffito

The Wabbit headed up the road at speed. With his bag of importantly important items on his back and wearing a toothsome grin, he gazed all around. He looked up and down and to each side to take in all his surroundings, because that was the way of the Wabbit. But then his eyes caught something that brought the Wabbit to a screeching halt. The Wabbit's exclamation was loud and echoed from the walls. “What is this blot on the escutcheon?” He had never been very sure what an escutcheon was, but he assumed it was something good, since it could be blotted. The Wabbit read to himself aloud. “Rabbit Racist” Then he repeated it and shook his head that there could be such a thing. The Wabbit welcomed all mammals irrespectively, unless they wished him some particular malice. He paced up and down and up and down, fretting and his back paws made a staccato sound on the road. It was only when he found himself complaining about the misplaced quotation marks that he realised the graffito didn’t say “Racist”. It said “Resist”. “Now that makes more sense,” said the Wabbit to himself. “But it should really end with an exclamation mark!” The Wabbit then made the appropriate correction with a red emergency marker that he kept in his bag - and loped onwards before anyone saw it was him.

The Wabbit runs into another Ancient Cat and gets a Package

The Wabbit reached the Largo di Torre Argentina with ease and didn't even have to cartwheel. "I'm looking for Antiqicat." said the Wabbit to the imposing cat on the wall. "Have you seen him?" "He's on sabbatical leave," said the cat. "You may, however speak to me with absolute confidence.”The Wabbit wondered whether all cats spoke in this ponderous manner, but then, he had a peculiar turn of phrase himself. "Apparently I have to pick so something up." "Wait here. I shall be back forthwith." The cat was gone and back in an instant. Dangling from her mouth like a kitten was a small sack made from a rag, which contained some objects. "What’s in the bag?" The Wabbit was impatient. "In this rag are a bone and a hank of hair," said the cat. “You must return these to the Home of the Standing Goddesses in Torino. The return of the objects is vital” "I'm sure. Now this would be where in Torino, exactly?" The Wabbit preferred more of the information and less of the enigma. "That is for me to know and you to find out," said the cat annoyingly. The Wabbit suddenly seized the bag with both paws and threw it in his own bag. Then he bad the cat adieu. And he just couldn't resist a small bow. If he had been wearing a hat, he would have doffed it. "Be seeing you!" he said and was gone.

The Wabbit gets winked at.

The Wabbit was in no great rush as he hopped from the station. But when he stopped in a quiet corner in the Piazza San Marco he felt the most peculiar sensation in his ears. Someone was staring at him. The Wabbit always knew when someone was looking at him. But in Rome, it could happen at any time. The Wabbit turned in the direction of the stare. "You look quite worn out," said the Wabbit. "It's because I've been staring so long. Hundreds and hundreds of years. You'd be worn out too." The staring statue seemed inclined to linger. The Wabbit put his paws behind his head. "Then why are are you winking?" "I wore out differentially. I have to keep a sense of humour about it. Otherwise I'd go off my head." The Wabbit was becoming tired of this banter and flopped exhausted in a heap. "Do you know what really gets in my hair?" The staring statue wasn't going to wait for an answer so the Wabbit stretched out. He had no particular timetable. "It's these people that pretend to be statues. What kind of activity is that? It's meaningless toil. And another thing, while I'm on the subject ..." The Wabbit broke in. " How do I get to Largo di Torre Argentina - where the cats live?" "Oh just keep going. You can't miss it. Although why anyone, especially a wabbit, should be interested I just can't imagine." But the statue was wasting its breath because the Wabbit had already gone. And as the Wabbit hopped he could hear a faint voice fading amongst the din of the traffic. " I stared at Audrey Hepburn once and so, do you know what I mean ... do you know? Do you?" The Wabbit hopped faster and faster and faster until he was certain he could hear no more.

The Wabbit gets off the Big Red Train

The Wabbit looked back as he hopped off the train in Rome Central. "Thank you Big Red Train, you saved my paws,” said the Wabbit to the driver. The driver was very busy but he waved to the Wabbit. “Too many people can see me still,” thought the Wabbit. But he didn’t mind really, because he was quite a friendly wabbit. He liked the Big Red Train. It could travel at 300 kilometres per hour, which was much faster than the Wabbit could ever go. Being on rails it couldn’t zig-zag like the Wabbit, although sometimes he thought it did its best. All the same, he could enjoy a salad sandwich in the buffet car and put his paws up for a while. The Wabbit paused on the platform and people hustled and bustled quickly past him with enormous bags. They certainly didn’t notice the Wabbit or much else for that matter. The Wabbit wasn’t quite sure what to do next. “Maybe I should visit my old haunts, but I don’t know,” thought the Wabbit. “I need to collect my thoughts.” Then he wondered what his thoughts would look like if they were collected in one place and all his fur stood on end. “That’s quite enough of that,” he said to himself. “I’m on a Roman holiday, just like that film with Audrey Hepburn.”So the Wabbit hopped off down the road. And as he did so he thought, “It must be fun to live in a place like this!”

The Wabbit is sent for R and R

“Sir! Pssst! Over here. By the fence.” The wabbit by the fence tried to get the Wabbit’s attention. “Sir! You got too used to your Super Glasses! I’m looking at you, Sir! Straight in the eye, Sir!” The Wabbit slapped his brow with a paw. Of course. He was after all, a wabbit. The wabbit by the fence continued. “La Guardia del Corpo Sir! Name of Contadino. Franco Contadino. At your service. Sir! The Wabbit for once was quite stuck for words. “I think I’ll have to pass the buck.” The Wabbit chortled to himself. “Stand easy and shave a carrot, Contadino.” The Wabbit thought he was well up on military terminology, but was usually wrong or hopelessly out of date. Together they hopped across the enclosure. Franco Contadino continued. “Your orders have arrived by wabbit courier, Sir. You have 72 R and R in Rome. Take the Big Red Train. Rome is 500 clicks south east, Sir.” The Wabbit grinned. “I do know where it is. And please stop calling me Sir. This is a Wabbit Run isn’t it? I have to pick something up?” “All in your papers Sir. Good luck Sir!” The Wabbit could hardly believe his luck. He tucked his papers into his bag, took one backwards glance and loped quickly along the Via Bardonecchia. He could only keep up his top speed of 70 kph for a little bit. And then he began to cart wheel. And the people that the Wabbit streaked past saw but a blur. But they could hear singing. Roma dove sei? Eri con me, oggi prigione tu, prigioniera io. And being Torinesi, they sadly shook their heads.

The Wabbit and the squeaky White Wabbits

The Wabbit hadn’t really disappeared. It was only a trick. He had used his special ears to make an extraordinary hop. So just around the corner he continued his investigation. “I will conduct a short case study,” said the Wabbit to himself. “These white wabbits will provide for an evidence- based enquiry.” The Wabbit wondered what other kind of enquiry there was but felt compelled to use official language for his report. “White wabbits! Might I enquire after your conditions?” Without looking up, the wabbits squeaked amongst themselves. “Who’s he? He sounds official,” squeaked one. “Better humour him,” squeaked the other. Then with their squeaky voices in perfect unison they both said, “We are well and have all we need. Would you like to see our double binkie?” That won’t be necessary,” said the Wabbit, with alarm. And what of Montgomery?” “He serves us well. He has secured us extra food, shelter, burrow material, walkways and a secure perimeter.” The white wabbits giggled squeakily. “Also, he has a rather good voice and sings in the evening.” Good grief,” smiled the Wabbit. “Things are better - or worse - than I thought.”