Empty nest. Don’t think I’m going to experience that too soon.

As you know, my son, his wife, their three children and their menagerie — two dogs, an outside cat and guinea pig — moved in with me. It’s been going well. There’s life in the house again and all of us have settled in nicely.

But we did have a situation last week. Well, let me just share it from the beginning…

While visiting their other grandfather, Poppa’s cat dragged in a baby bunny. Eldest granddaughter “rescued” the frightened bunny from the cat’s claws, and insisted she would mother it back to health. So, she came bouncing in the house with a “Grandpa! Grandpa! Look what I have!” as she showed me the tiny little bunny held tightly in her arms. “I’m going to keep him.”

“Oh.” That was all I could say. Then I made the mistake of asking what’s it’s name was.

“Well, it was going to be Mr. Bun Bun, but I don’t know whether it’s a boy or girl, so we’re just calling him Bun Bun.”

Welcome to the family, Bun Bun.

I did have some reservations, not because I was concerned about the bunny, but the circumstances he found himself in. Bun Bun didn’t appear to have any punctures, but internally … who knows? And he was awful small, probably six to inches in length.

My son figured it was a jack-rabbit, which added to the skepticism. Jack-rabbits, while leaving the nest soon after birth, are born with a coat of fur and are about six to inches when born. That describes Bun Bun perfectly. The last sentence in the Internet-driven description was jack-rabbits cannot be domesticated.

At any rate, we got through Tuesday night and Wednesday in a makeshift box “cage.” Bun Bun appeared to be eating some of the lettuce and granddaughter was bubbling.

Then came Thursday morning. Bun Bun was found lying on its side with its paws stiff. Taylor’s mood crashed. A “funeral” was planned with a backyard interment Thursday afternoon.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. Mom and Dad felt so bad for Taylor — and were looking for a birthday present — they asked if they could buy her a bunny for her birthday. After all, she’s been begging for a bunny for, well, forever. What could I say?

So, welcome to the house Mr. Fluffy. At least you have a decent cage, not a makeshift box.

I guess my kids and all of God’s creatures know I have an open house policy. Friday morning, my grandson discovered a mouse in the bathtub — a very live, very wet mouse since my granddaughter had just finished her shower. First words out of youngest granddaughter’s mouth? “Can we keep him?

“Ah… No,” was the quick response.

And note to cats: you guys missed that one.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: You can always tell luck from ability by its duration.