The day the Bunny died.

It is still technically Easter for the next 42 minutes, so I've decided to share with you the "fondest" Easter memory of my childhood.

I think I was about 9 or 10 years old, and I might've still believed in the Easter Bunny. So, I go to bed the saturday night before Easter expecting nothing, but the best in the morning. At that point I had no idea I was about to be traumatized beyond my wildest dreams. At about half past 4 in the morning I was awaken to a terrible screeching noise, that sounded like a cat fighting something (easter bunny??). My mother hates cats so we did not have one, but my neighbor did, so it must've been the neighbors cat fighting. I didn't think anything of it, I was living in a wooded area at the time, and I figured the cat could be fighting anything; another cat, a raccoon, an opossum, or a BUNNY RABBIT. At this point I freak out thinking the neighbor's cat is in the process of killing the Easter Bunny. Instinctively I jumped out of bed to see what was outside my window, to make sure there was no giant dead rabbit in my back yard. Fortunately for me I stumbled upon my Easter basket before reaching the window. This relieved me, I no longer cared if the Easter Bunny was dead, I already had my Easter basket. I never did reach the window to check the backyard. The next morning I checked the area where I heard the noise, and there was no pool of blood which could mean only one thing... the Easter Bunny escaped. By the time the next Easter rolled around I had resigned myself to stop believing in all things mystical (with Bigfoot being the sole exception). Some day when I'm equipped with sophisticated crypto-zoological equipment I shall find Bigfoot, maybe he killed the Easter Bunny.