Reflections on Oreo (Clara)'s passing

No one knew how sick Oreo (Clara chan) was

Nasal and middle ear osteolysis, high probability of hearing loss, missing molars, severe Pasteurellosis. 

9/25/25

I first laid eyes on Oreo around late February 2024.

She was a fluffy black-and-white rabbit. She was likely born near the building situated on the ocean side of the swimming pool. I often saw her darting back and forth from the vicinity of the wire fence toward the open plaza. What on earth is that? As a baby, Oreo looked like a tiny black-and-white furball tumbling across the ground in the wind; yet, I quickly realized she was, in fact, a young rabbit.

She never approached humans—always fleeing instead—which is precisely why I wasn't able to take a single photograph of her during her early days. This skittish nature, however, proved to be a blessing for her survival on the island.

It is said that fewer than 10% of the rabbits on the island live long enough to celebrate their first birthday; moreover, while most of the rabbits born by the poolside were invariably snatched up by crows, Oreo managed to grow up safe and sound.

When I met her for the second time—that same year, in June—I heard that she had been given the name "Oreo" due to his distinctive coloring. Her wary attitude toward humans remained unchanged. Yet, believing that such wariness was actually beneficial for a long life on the island, I would leave out some food for her  and watch from a distance; I remember how she would eat it with evident relish. One thing that hadn't changed was her tendency to flee the moment I tried to take a close-up photograph.

By the time I met her for the third time—in February 2025—she had fully matured into an adult, and her striking appearance made her a particularly conspicuous figure among the rabbits. On that occasion, the only image I retain is of her eating amidst the general crowd. Even then, she stood in stark contrast to the many other rabbits who would suddenly turn friendly just to get their paws on some food.

Oreo I saw this time, however, was clearly a different rabbit than the one I had seen before. She was breathing strangely—a sign of a nasal infection—and I felt a surge of alarm upon realizing that she was barely eating anything at all. When I offered her some pellets, she would turn her face away with a dismissive gesture; while she would eat carrots cut into matchstick-sized strips, the amount she consumed was—compared to the other rabbits—incomparably meager.

Mustering the courage to reach out and touch her, I was left aghast: her body was emaciated, and I could feel her bones protruding sharply beneath her fur. "If things go on like this... She's going to die."

Following her rescue, medical examinations revealed that the bones in both her nose and ears had completely dissolved and vanished due to infection. It was determined that she possessed almost no sense of smell, and—suffering from severe otitis media—she likely could not hear anything either. Furthermore, the diagnosis indicated that the roots of several of her molars had been destroyed, suggesting she had been unable to consume adequate food.

What must have been going through Oreo’s mind as she lived like that? A life where she could hear nothing. Food that held no scent. Looking back now, Oreo’s behavior—which often seemed as though she were completely cut off from everything around her—makes perfect sense. She spent much of her time alone; even when gathered with the others to eat, she would often simply sit motionless without touching her food. Videos even captured moments where, despite making the motions of eating, the food would simply fall right back out of her mouth.

Like so many other rabbits on Okunoshima Island, Oreo, too, contracted an infection that gradually ravaged her body—all without anyone ever noticing.

What must her life have been like during those one year and seven months on the island? A daily struggle to simply survive and eat while her body was slowly being consumed by disease?

In the days leading up to her departure from the island, Oreo looked utterly exhausted just by his mere presence there. There is no doubt that she suffered terribly.

I wish... I wish we could have rescued her sooner. Once again, another rabbit—one who was cherished by so many people—has crossed over to join the "Moonbeam Brigade."

I want everyone to know the reality of how the rabbits on Okunoshima Island meet their end.

Is it truly acceptable to let things continue this way?