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One rabbit. One life. And many traps. I'm seven years old, it's my birthday, and my mom gets me a rabbit. I was in paroxysms of joy. Until the following day when I rushed out to play with him before school and discovered that getting a rabbit for your birthday essentially means getting an uncommunicative, uninterested pet that continually generates a stream of unpleasant chores and will never, ever thank you for scraping out the poo enamel it's trying to lay on the floor of its hutch. Maybe that's why I get some sort of mean-spirited pleasure out of this weird little arcade avoidance game about a rabbit continually trying and failing to reunite with the object of his affections. I have a lot of weird stories about rabbit ownership; I suspect if you grew up in rural Canada, you probably do, too.

Categories: Mind / Labyrinth

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