My customary nattering about the vagaries of Vermont politics or who’s doing what to whom at the Statehouse has been sidelined by two real-life intrusions into this thought space. One is of tremendous consequence only to our household; the other is worth reporting to the greater #vtpoli community.

The second one first. I hadn’t been hearing much lately from Morgan W. Brown, a Montpelier resident and fellow blogger (“Green Mountain Meandering Missives“) who spent years experiencing homelessness and writes eloquently from the inimitable viewpoint acquired from what they call “lived experience.”

I knew Morgan had been hospitalized for a while. I consider myself an acquaintance of his, not really a friend, and I didn’t want to bother him with inquiries from someone in a better position to be curious than helpful.

That changed Monday morning when Morgan took to his blog for the first time since early November with a piece entitled “Medical Update,” where he revealed that he had been diagnosed with cancer that may or may not be treatable. (I hope he doesn’t mind me giving away the conclusion of his post. That collection of tags was simply brilliant.)

I don’t know Morgan well, but I respect him, and my heart sank when I read of his diagnosis.

He delivered the news in the third paragraph of his post, and then assured readers that he was facing the prospect with good humor — and with “lots of support and encouragement” from friends, neighbors, health care providers and, not least of all, his cat Miss Cleo. Also with Winston Churchill’s words to live by: “Keep Buggering On.”

I want to wish Morgan all the best. Long may he live, and continue to bless the rest of us with his writings.

Which brings me to a relatively inconsequential point in the grand scheme. The Internet is a great thing in many ways, but it’s also a very fragile thing. Stuff can disappear, or become awfully difficult to find, for no good reason. This includes a fair bit of recent Vermont history that’s entirely online. There once was a blog called “Vermont Tiger,” which was a platform for conservative thought. It’s gone now. “Green Mountain Daily,” a liberal counterpart (and the launchpad for my so-called career as a Vermont Political Observer), continues to exist because its founder John Odum has kept it in place. Digital disappearance can also happen in more traditional media; the political columns published by Seven Days from Peter Freyne through Mark Johnson are still online but don’t appear anywhere obvious on the paper’s website. And I’ve found that searching for those writings can be a frustrating experience.

I have given some thought about what will happen to this blog after I’ve left the scene, although I haven’t yet done anything about it besides think. The same questions come to mind about “Green Mountain Meandering Missives” and the many other blogs that are part of the Vermont political scene, including efforts by Kevin Ellis, Matthew Vigneau, Rob Roper, Elaine Haney, Bill Schubart, and Hamilton Davis. (Yeah, mostly white men, which is a shame.)

It would be great if some institution — like the Vermont Historical Society or the Vermont State Archives — could preserve this digital dimension of 21st Century life and politics. These little outposts shouldn’t just blink out of existence.

Well, for Morgan’s sake and Miss Cleo’s, and for all of our sakes, let’s hope that this turns out to be nothing more than a health scare and that the future of GMMM will remain in his own hands for a long time to come.

And now, the news from my own household. We’ve kept house rabbits for many years. We have always adopted them from shelters, which keeps us from contributing to the often cruel and destructive Baby Bunny industry. It also means that our rabbits can be middle-aged or even older when they get here, and they often leave us too damn quickly.

So, for the first and last time, meet Harley.

Harley was a lively ball of personality, an independent soul who formed strong relationships with two successive companion rabbits. We adopted her from the Chittenden County Humane Society; her listed age was one year old, but our vet believes she was a lot older than that. She was with us for less than two years. As is often the case with rabbits, the illness that took her life came on with little warning. We went from “something’s wrong, we should take her to the vet” to “she’s going to die any day” within about a month.

Her decline accelerated in the last week, which led us to make an appointment for euthanasia on Monday. (This picture was taken on Sunday and shows signs of her ill health — puffy face, matted fur, hunched posture.) We didn’t know if she was going to survive that long, but she did. Tough little creature.

The euthanasia was a two-step process: first a sedative, then the fatal dose a few minutes later. The vet administered the sedative, then put Harley into our travel cage next to her friend Bryce. Harley was weak enough that she actually slipped away before the second shot.

I wouldn’t compare losing Harley to getting a cancer diagnosis. But, and I’m sure Morgan would agree, these critters can have a huge impact on your life. I can’t write about Harley without tears coming to my eyes. There’s been some extra heaviness to the last several weeks because we knew this day was coming soon.

We’ll probably wait a few weeks and then look for an adoptable female rabbit. They tend to do better in pairs. In the meantime, Bryce will get all the leafy greens he wants. I mean, it’s not just humans that engage in emotional eating.

And we’ll all keep buggering on. And sometime this spring, we’ll bury Harley under a black walnut tree in the backyard. It’s a matter of respect for an animal who enriched our lives and made our house a much cuter place.

How cute? This damn cute. Goodbye, Harley.

Stay tuned; I will shortly return to the usual nonsense.