I woke up to a bunch of rabbits yelling at me.

“WeeeeEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEeeeeee” they squealed, individually making a soft whining sound that could to the casual pet owner be construed as rather cute, but collectively producing an aggressively irritating, continuous high-pitched drone that screamed one singular message — they were hungry.

“Ugh,” I sighed in disgust. I didn’t have nearly enough energy for this without coffee. Not at 6 in the morning.

As I stumbled my way to the kitchen, the rabbits followed along, slowly bouncing along with my lazy footsteps like a rippling ocean of plump white fur. After turning on the coffee machine, I reached over to open the fridge and an avalanche of carrots poured out, immediately pounced upon by the ravenous horde of countless bunnies.

“How on earth did I get here?” I thought to myself. Just last week my life had still been relatively normal and completely rabbit-free — until my friend Jerry had given me some terrible advice when I asked him for side income ideas.

“The money’s all in rabbits!” he’d said. “They’re cute, easy to feed and reproduce quickly. Kids love them!”

In a week I’d make my money back, he promised, and in two I’d have doubled my initial investment. But he’d left out one important caveat — that’s only if I managed to sell them. Turns out the people in my neighbourhood were mostly dog people and had no interest taking in rabbits even for free, leaving me with this infernal infestation of fluffiness.