Friends, let me set the scene for you:

The brood all returned for this most somber occasion. In the ways of the old ones, the ladies all came attired in the finest lace and sumptuous silks. The gentlemen were, of course, outfitted with full top hat and monocle. I was rather under-dressed, adding to my otherness in this scenario (as the only rabbit in the room). H. Pidgewidge was laid out on bed of refuse, which the clan gently pecked and noshed on throughout the first day of mourning. Then, friends, some unkind soul brought out the ripest gutterwine EVER inflicted.

Gutterwine, you see, is a strange brew of fetid water and grain. Ol’ Pidge himself was quite the homebrewer, and this particular vintage was from 1841. You can only IMAGINE the stench. And the hangover.

Lady Jane Featherbottom

Thankfully, the clans had laid out the most sumptuous feast of fine Crudités, pheasants, and puddings, so a bunny was not without indulgences. And yes, yes, I MAY have delighted in a thimbleful of the awful gutterwine. Actually, things get a little fuzzy after the youngest daughter of the Featherbottom family, Lady Jane, began to refill my thimble at quite an Alarming rate. It’s quite possible that some manner of picadillo or indiscretion occurred, because I awoke quite bloated and unclothed on a country road halfway between the Pidgewidge manor and my cottage.

Perhaps a shower is in order…. ?

Most HONORABLE Mayor Thrumblood,

I am writing as a GREATLY concerned citizen of our fair Villetown. One might say there could be no GREATER concerned body than I!

Lately, many a foul event has plagued our sleepy little hamlet: accursed Puffinry, upsetting run-ins with the YOUTH of neighboring Buffton, and now the savage killing of the young member of the Pidgewidge clan.

What plans have you and the council set forth to rectify these many signs that our little oasis in the modern world is being dragged down to the depths of probable ghetto? What assurances can you give me, landowner and upstanding citizen (who has voted for you in 46 of the past 47  electoral events*) that anything will be done to restore safety?

Pip & Tut to YOU, Sir!

Gatsby

* Gatsby was ill during election 47 with a most severe flair-up of THE GOUT, and therefore was unable to make it to the polling place.

Unconscionable!

I am told the family is preparing the wake as I write, so you can pay your respects at 4059 Cherrybranch Lane after 12pm tomorrow. Cakes, crusty loaves, and remaindered fried chicken would all be appropriate gifts.

R.I.P. Hector Pidgewidge, a gentleman and the finest chicken-eater I ever knew.