steve mcqueen bunny

bloody hell, my house is like the great escape, and i am definitely the Nazis in that scenario! Only the 'nice' nazi who just wants to get some respect then lashes out when they don't.
every time i go into the living room the bunnies do the equivalent of putting their hands in their pockets and whistling!
WHAT DO THEY WANT FROM ME?!
i thought that this scenario would be like an orphanage, where i was mother Theresa, and the bunnies curled up on my lap, finally happy from the love of a benevolent stranger, me, looking down pityingly at their sleeping faces in the firelight, thinking about all they'd gone through, and about how they'd die before me(i hope) and how sad life all was but worth it if you could feel truly safe and truly loved, even just for one second.

but no.
it's like an orphanage where you leave the food out and the children grab it and retreat and if you reach out towards them they flinch into a ball and run away. whenever your back is turned, say, you need a break from running this orphanage, pouring all your love and time into it, worrying what's best for the orphans, buying them their favourite treats (kale) and worrying about them, when your back is turned such is their frenzy to leave after their weeks of plan-hatching that they DIG UP THE FUCKING CARPET.
thus meaning you have to turn away all the other orphans on the grounds that you don't BLOODY TRUST THEM anymore. and you can't afford to keep repairing stuff.

that analogy didn't work did it?
basically, my bunnies are PLOTTING and i am SUSPICIOUS of them. i have taken to peeking around doorframes to see what they're up to.
like i do with the orphans down the road.