The black kitten loses sight of his mother, and cries for aid. Soon, after about five meows, the mother comes along, emerging through the fence cracks. its doesn't take long, and now new cats arrive; this time, a white cat with greyish spots on the face, tail and paws, together with more of his kind. the two families are now standing together in the dimly lit garden, and begin foraging for food and critters once more, as they were doing before I interrupted them. The black kitten was the one who was most fierce before my presence - he kept his distance, of course - but he allowed for me to roam freely next to him, even after his mother had left him. It was only after I was gone that he started to cry for help. A brave kitten.
 And now, looking back, I realise that the fault was all mine. The momentary interruption didn't have that much of an impact on the cats, but it did on me. I wouldn't be writing this if it hadn't touched me in some way. I'm not one of those literary types. In fact, this is the first thing I have ever truly written. Deep dowm all of us aspire to be writers, or painters, sculptors and whatnot. We all wish to leave a legacy behind, a proof of what we did. So, if this ends up being the only thing I ever write, in all of my years, then may it be preserved, and let all of you who read know that I, blinded by arrogance, disturbed a cat family, and then arrived home, so intoxicated by my own ego that i began to write it down.
26 october 2018