"Did you love Monica Bluff?" Ruth asked.

"Sure."

"I don't see how you could."

Jason said, "There are different kinds of love."

"Like Emily Fusselman's rabbit." She glanced up at him. "A woman I knew, married, with three kids; she had two kittens and then she got one of those big gray Belgian rabbits that go lipperty lipperty lipperty on those huge hind legs. For the first month, the rabbit was afraid to come out of his cage. It was a he, we think, as best as we could tell. Then after a month, he would come out of his cage and hop around the living room. After too months, he learned to climb the stairs and scratch on Emily's bedroom door to wake her up in the morning. He started playing with the cats, and there the trouble began because he wasn't as smart as a cat."

"Rabbits have smaller brains," Jason said.

Ruth Rae said, "Hard by. Anyhow, he adored the cats and tried to do everything they did. He even learned to use the cat-box most of the time. Using tufts of hair he pulled from his chest, he made a nest behind the couch and wanted the kittens to get into it. But they never would. The end of it all--nearly--came when he tried to play Gotcha with a German shepherd some lady brought over. You see, the rabbit learned to play this game with the cats and with Emily Fusselman and the children where he'd hide behind the couch and then come running out, running very fast in circles, and everyone tried to catch him, but usually couldn't, and then he's run back to safety behind the couch, where no one was supposed to follow. But the dog didn't know the rules of the game and when the rabbit ran back behind the couch the dog went after him and snapped its jaws around the rabbit's rear end. Emily managed to pry the dog's jaws open and she got the dog outside, but the rabbit was badly hurt. He recovered, but after that he was terrified of dogs and ran away if he even say one through the window. And the part of him the dog bit, he kept that part hidden behind the drapes because he had no hair there and was ashamed. But what was so touching about him was his pushing against the limits of his--what would you say?--physiology? His limitations as a rabbit, trying to become a more evolved life form, like the cats. Wanting all the time to be with them and play with them as an equal. That's all there is to it, really. The kittens wouldn't stay in the nest he built for them, and the dog didn't know the rules and got him. He lived several years. But who would have thought that a rabbit could develop such a complex personality? And when you were sitting on the couch and he wanted you to get off so he could lie down, he'd nudge you and then if you didn't move he'd bite you. But look at the aspirations of that rabbit and look at his failing. A little life trying. And all the time it was hopeless. But the rabbit didn't know that. Or maybe he did know and kept trying anyhow. But I think he didn't understand. He just wanted to do it so badly. It was his whole life, because he loved the cats."

Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said, Philip K. Dick