Ryan Schweitzer is becoming one with his sofa, stretching across an arm to get a closer look at the object of his baby-talk, Matilda Marie the Divine, the furry goddess down on the floor.

His cheek leans into the furniture, stretching his adoring smile into something truly comical, while Matilda concerns herself with the freshness of her baby greens, nose and whiskers twitching happily during her lunch.

In addition to Schweitzer's heart, the lop-eared rabbit owns a nice chunk of his living room, an efficiency apartment with all the amenities inside an immaculate open-door pen.

Schweitzer and his other fair maiden, his wife, Susan, Akron residents, adopted the plush variegated gray from the Columbus House Rabbit Society about a year ago after an intensive series of

interviews that included paperwork and a long-distance house inspection.

Pardon the obvious, but rabbits are not cats and dogs and their owners must be properly equipped and prepared to meet the needs of an exotic animal, which means finding an exotic animal vet, supplying a buffet of special food and learning rabbit psychology, not to mention the bunny hop.

''Rabbits are very social,'' said Ryan, smitten. The threesome has learned each other's language and they often relate on the same physical level, which means hanging out on the floor, where Matilda can interact.

''She's been such a joy in our lives,'' said Susan. ''Rabbits do so many different things all the time. She's our baby. . . . Just looking at her cheers me up.''

High-maintenance pets

Even so, rabbits, for all their rewards, are high maintenance.

They become a commodity at Easter time. Bred irresponsibly for quick profit, they fall prey to impulse buyers who soon realize that rabbits require tender loving care. When half-hearted owners grow tired of the novelty, they unload them on rescue shelters or toss them outdoors, where they die from starvation, disease and attacks by predators.

Adopting and dumping are the antithesis to the life-affirming season of Easter, a time of redemption and renewal. Please do not become a part of this ugly game. The landscape is hopping with homeless bunnies. With a lifespan of seven to 10 years, a rabbit is a big commitment. If you think you want one, do your homework and give it some serious thought. Otherwise, make it chocolate.

The Schweitzers gave me a tour of their living room: Not an electric cord in sight. Oh, sure, they were there all right, meticulously sheathed in a bite-proof casing from the hardware store. The temperature is kept cool so Matilda will feel like playing — she becomes a couch potato when the mercury rises and what fun is that?

''Our house is bunny safe,'' said Susan, director of development at the Akron Art Museum. Ryan, a transportation security officer at Akron-Canton Airport, and Susan are on different schedules, which means Matilda isn't alone for very long, which is good and an important consideration when adopting a pet.

Not for children

Rabbits don't make good pets for children and usually do not like to be held, carried or cuddled, said Susan. That's why stuffed animals are so popular. But once they are socialized, they make intelligent, fun-loving, affectionate pets.

Generally speaking, spaying/neutering will prevent their marking and lessen a tendency toward aggression. Matilda is litter-trained and sits politely in her box in her apartment, munching hay while she performs her duty. It's an endearing quirk. The Schweitzers clean her box faithfully every day, nothing less than they would do for themselves, they say.

They speak a special language. For one thing, Matilda is not ''spoiled''; she's ''indulged,'' said Ryan.

''Tooth purring,'' is what the lop-ear does when she is happy. The slight movement of her whiskers and jaw at rest mean she's contented.

''She bunny flops,'' said Ryan. ''It's hilarious. She runs through a tube behind the couch and when I go back to look at her, she's on her back with all fours up — a bunny flop.''

She does the ''frog bunny'' when she throws out her hind legs while she's stretched out on the floor. Dogs do this, too. Leaping up and kicking out her heels is called a ''binky,'' a sign of bunny jubilation.

She runs the ''bunny 500'' when she lopes through the living room, knocking down specially created toy towers, and has been known to play ''bunny tag,'' which needs no explanation.

Her day is a whirlwind of fresh mint and fresh mixed greens, such an endive, romaine, cilantro, parsley and baby spinach. Iceberg is bad for them, they Schweitzers warn, and carrots are fine in moderation, but they're high in sugar, so they're fattening. You know what they say about rabbits.

They multiply like crazy in your heart.

Once you've been smitten, you start seeing them everywhere.

Susan discovered one much in need of a loving home outside the art museum one day. ''It broke my heart to see the emaciated rabbit,'' she said. ''It just hurt me so much.'' Her house was full, so she took the bunny to the Humane Society of Greater Akron, which deals primarily in cats and dogs, but has rabbits for adoption from time to time.

Readers who want more information should consult the national House Rabbit Society at http://www.rabbit.org/ or the Buckeye House Rabbit Society at http://www.ohare.org.

Once you scratch the surface, rabbit fever goes deep, say the Schweitzers.