The second hand twitched and the Wabbit was hurled across the room, barely escaping being trapped in the top drawer of his stationery cabinet. Even though it held all his glue and bluetack and Sellotape, he didn't stick. He found himself hurled into the air, bloated like a filthy toad with a secret spite. "I don't like this!" he yelled. "What did I ever do to you?" The cupboard failed to reply. The door slammed closed. The Wabbit was annoyed because he'd purchased the cabinet in good faith. "Stupid cupboard!" he yelled, "I'm not using your company again!" He spiralled round and round. He noticed a cable sticking from the desk. It was an attempt to keep a tidy office, a strategy that had never worked and probably never would - but he grabbed it nonetheless. It had some slack and he reeled it in. As he reeled, he became less bloated. "As long as I don't turn into a battery charger," he murmured. At last he returned to his normal size. "Thanks," he said to the charger cable. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?" "I'm one of the many you keep here," it said. "You can call me Loomy. I'm lightweight, adaptable and fairly fast." The Wabbit looked at him. "Shall I tidy you?" "No, no! I'm one of a kind," said Loomy, "No USB connection for me." The Wabbit regarded him benignly. "Any chance of a liquid refreshment around here?" Loomy twisted into a wavy line that looked like a smile. "Prosecco miniatures in the bottom drawer. My private stock."
