I have befriended the dust bunnies that live under the kitchen stools. One is long and thin, with an errant Christmas tree needle for what I assume is a tail. The other is a bit chubbier with dust-fluff, and a tiny scrap of pink construction paper which I assume is a nose. Sometimes, between changing the latest load of laundry and wiping the day's stickiness off of the counters, I sit down at the table and chat with Walden and Gertrude. That is what I named them, after they had been there so long I decided to let them stay.   Walden (left) and Gertrude (right) Yesterday, as I swept away last night's dinner crumbs and set down a steaming mug of raspberry tea, I mumbled under my breath, "Why am I the only one in this house who cleans anything?"   “There ain't no answer. There ain't gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. There's your answer,” Gertrude responded from beneath the kitchen counter.  "Ah, the question is not what you look at, bu...