this is the third little kitten i painted tonite.
the rest of her litter are gone,
failures of attention and of spilled water –
not unlike the rest of her siblings
who we have buried under a pecan tree –
they were never ‘ours’.
They were born, like so many others under the shops and porches of my neighbor.
Someone has thrown kibble in front of our house by the road,
to lure them out or as some misguided attempt at being kind?
i know not.
I only know that I have been rebuffed in my attempts to help.
that can no longer be an excuse.
That an act of feeding could be so cruel.
like torn pieces of rice paper –
i feel ripped apart by metaphors and myths.
I need to feed my better wolves.
and bait traps of kindness.