Wild Thing…You Make Katya’s Heart Sing
This morning I was greeted by a rabbit.
He looked me up and down,
didn't bother with a hello,
judged me completely,
then hopped off
into the green jungle—
the jungle that will
soon disappear,
the jungle that provides
shade from the blistering sun,
the jungle that is also
a luxury condominium
for snakes
and other mysterious creatures
of the wild ilk.
Don't get me wrong.
Katya likes wild.
She likes birdsong,
time travel,
and trees that mind their own business.
She does not like
sharing her quiet,
her porch,
or her abode
with freeloading wildlife.
A heroine needs personal space.
How else is she supposed to create
fantastical stories—
stories of hope,
of inspiration,
stories where the heroine
or her cat
wins?
The rabbit, however,
is a terrible villain.
Sure,
he'll nibble your prize-winning flowers,
stare at you like you owe him rent,
and disappear into the shrubbery
before the HOA can identify him.
But that's where the criminal enterprise ends.
Rabbits are pets,
for crying out loud.
Mice—
now those are villains.
They eat plastic.
They poop in your kitchen drawers.
They carry viruses.
They hollow out your couch,
move into the stuffing,
and leave tiny deposits
to commemorate the occasion.
Mice are the politicians
of the animal kingdom.
They ruin your day,
promise they're gone,
then show up again
for a return engagement.
Get a cat.
Let Katya write.
Kill the mice.
Have some peace.
