My father likes pets, and ever since I could remember, there will always be at least one variety from the animal kingdom that will be residing with us. There was this one particular time when I was around 4 or 5 years old that we had a cat. My father was quite fond of it. It then got pregnant and soon after there was a litter of blind kittens meowing and stinking up the house. Once, I was left alone in the house and incidentally, the cat left her litter, probably to hunt down some rodents which are quite populous in our humble abode. In my young mind, I didn’t intend to harm the little kitties, I just wanted to play. I started to pick one up, tried to make it stand and dance. It was like playing with dolls. I made it walk around the park of Paris, made it dance on a stage in New York and made fly like one of those circus acts in Vegas. I was having fun, till my mom found me with a lifeless kitten in my hand. I could still remember the look that she gave me.  It was a mixture of horror and disappointment with a tinge of pity. Pity for what, that I didn't know, but in retrospect I think I should have been punished then, because now I feel horrible about what I did. And nothing could bring back that kitten, and I probably will always think of myself as a kid with psychopathic tendencies when I was younger because of what happened.

     This whole reflection made me think about you, and how you are breaking my heart now. Were you just like me when I killed that kitten?  Were you foreign to the concept that you are man-handling my emotions just like how I was with that poor creature? And will I have to wait at least 2 decades for you to ponder on the emotional damage you are bestowing upon me now?

I should have left those newborns all by their selves, like how you should have let me be. Years passed, we grew apart and I how I wish that we just let things the way they are when we were still awkward around each other. If only I did just that, then that kitten will still be alive and I won’t have a broken heart.