I killed a cat yesterday … in a dream.

Yes, I’d like my dreams to be full of meandering paths bordered by flowers, but it ain’t always so.

I’d like photos of me to show grace and kindness, not the fury of the kid you see here, but it ain’t always so.

I guess I’m all of it, including both my public sweetness and my private agonies.

The black part showed up overnight.  I was standing on a slight hill.  Below me a tiny cat (a kitten?) was running full speed, chased by a huge tabby … from my right to left.

Then again, coming left to right.  I stepped down the hill and drew back my leg like a football player (soccer).  The kitten saw the movement and sidestepped out of the way.

I followed through, and my foot caught the big cat square in the forehead.

He collapsed in a puddle of ooze.  And died.

I woke up … eyes wide

***

Who am I anyway, in the depths of my being?

The assassin?

The lover?

The rescuer?

The bystander?

All of it?