Easter Bunny

You returned from the office party at three in the morning. The boss had organized a "fun" team-building activity involving painting eggs, and your head was spinning. As you went into the kitchen for water, you saw a gray-blue ball of fur with green eyes, the size of a hamster, tumble through the window.

The rabbit plopped down into your mug with the remains of your coffee, climbed out and said in the hoarse voice of a seasoned dispatcher:

• You didn't see me. You're sleeping.

— This is my apartment. And you just drowned in my latte.

It turned out to be the Easter Bunny. The keeper of hope. Because children now believe in iPhones, he's shrunk to the size of a rat. And his magical eggs have scattered across basements, stealing knitting needles from old ladies.

"I have to dig holes to Australia," he muttered, stamping his paw. "And that idiot Reindeer is going on again about how Christmas is more important."

You gave him a cookie. He snorted contemptuously, ate three, and swelled back to his normal size. Grabbing your broom (mistaking it for a boomerang), he declared you his "temporary familiar. "

"You saw me, so you believe me. You'll roll chocolate eggs. Otherwise, hope will die."

You wanted to say that you have a court date with your ex tomorrow, but the rabbit had already opened a portal to the basement.

"By the way, your ex, the one who said Easter is marketing? I turned his garden into a field of ten-foot-tall nettles. And made his mom dig giant eggs in it."

He smiled, charmingly and sinisterly.

You woke up in the kitchen. A bay leaf floated in a mug. A golden egg with your name on it lay on the table, and in your ex's garden, someone was still crying. The rabbit sat on your shoulder, commanding, "Let's go, Coffee Keeper. Hope awaits. "

Mmm.