Bunnicula: A Rabbit-Tale of Mystery

So, this is a rabbit, I thought. He sort of looks like Chester, only he's got longer ears and a shorter tail. And a motor in his nose.

Fangs are more pointed, and vampires use fangs to bite people on the neck.' 'Yech! Who'd want to do that?' 'Vampires would, that's who.' 'Wait a minute. I saw Mrs. Monroe bite Mr. Monroe on the neck once. Does that mean she's a vampire?' 'Boy, are you dumb. She's not a vampire. She's a lawyer.

But looking back on the next day, I can tell you that happy endings are possible, even in situations as fraught with complications as this one was.

Harold: "It so happens I was discussing great works of literature with Toby." Chester: "Since when is a Twinkies wrapper considered a great work of literature?

Mom, you're not going to let him name him, are you? That's favoritism, and I'll be traumatized if you do.

At this point, Chester started to bathe his tail, which is a cat's way of changing a subject he finds uncomfortable.

I don’t know if you’ve ever watched a cat try to decide where to sit, but it involves a lot of circling around, sitting, getting up again, circling some more, thinking about it, lying down, standing up, bathing a paw or tail and . . . circling! A dog, on the other hand, sits. “This looks like a good spot,” a dog will say to himself. He will then lower his body to the spot in question and is usually so secure in his decision that he will fall asleep immediately.

Chester continued, “The Mark of the Vampire says garlic renders vampires immobile.

Come on, come on, you’re wasting time. Just jump up here.” I surveyed the scene carefully. I knew I would have to get a running start since there was just a tiny spot left for me and I would never be able to fit into it if I pulled myself up slowly. Apparently, I was taking too long for Chester’s liking. “Will you get up here?” he hissed. Okay, if that’s what you want. I ran and jumped onto the chair, landing with a great kerplop. “Chester, where are you?” I cried. I couldn’t see anything but the back of the chair. I’d forgotten to turn myself around. “I’m here, you great oaf!” I turned my head. “What are you doing on the floor?” I asked. “You knocked me off the chair. Now just stay put. I’m coming back up.” I moved to the back of the chair, and Chester

(But then, I’m not your ordinary dog, since an ordinary dog wouldn’t be writing this book, would he?)

Mom, you’re not going to let him name him, are you? That’s favoritism, and I’ll be traumatized if you do.

A parrot,” he said, “is a tropical zygodactyl bird (order psittaciformes) that has a stout curved hooked bill, is often crested, brightly variegated, and an excellent mimic. In other words, Harold, a parrot is a little bird with a big mouth.