If we truly live this fairytale life in our Hansel and Gretel house upon our hill, we’ll surely want everyone to operate on the same fairytale level.
“I see nothing but a cloud of dust in the sun and the green grass, a flock of sheep, two horsemen, still a great way off” will no longer do, sister Anne, when we’re waiting for salvation from this Blue Bearded Creep of a Winter. Raising any child this way, even if it’s canine, requires mapped out faith, an open gaze and a consistency that equals an all-machines-have-hearts attitude. Don’t ask me how I know this, I just do.
Witnessing our little whipster’s intake of every ethereal alteration with his signature of bewildered enthusiasm, has quickly become my favorite pastime of the day; the way he forgets I’m even there too, I’m not, until he needs me to be.
There is obviously a profound magic in every seasonal transition, engulfing me for instance when observing the rose cuttings in front of the cat cave’s tiniest window, simply surviving winters latests attempts of remaining boss by its freezingly forceful headlock.
But this one, this passage through the endless wet wintertide to the promised twenty degrees this coming weekend with plenty of sun, is striking in its bare nakedness and reduces me to a bystander-in-awe, a role I gratefully accept, if that’s all that is offered to me.
But not young Mec, his gaze profiling this outside category, with his marvel often leading him to the exact same viewpoint over our beloved valley that not so long ago was the preferred hangout for his predecessor, to whom this world forever belongs. Oh, these memories of miracles shared that coincide with the promise of his future reign, with only false morality in its way.
Listen, my young Mec, in whatever anyone is trying to teach you, please ignore those horrible Blue Beard’s efforts telling you anything different. Nobody really believes that curiosity, in spite of its appeal, often leads to deep regret and that its enjoyment is short lived and once satisfied ceases to exist, always costing dearly.
Exit educational sermon, enter joy.
The only thing to remember from this tale is that there’s never a reason to kill any cat.