Battle Scarred

The kid pattered around the patio chasing the cat. The feline was the master of this particular patch. Having a two feet munchkin chasing her was a new experience. She was tolerating it... But just about. Maybe the unique childish delight in his eyes was comforting. Enough to know that no harm would come to her.

But now again she stopped, regal on her haunches flicking her tail here and there. Suddenly the observer, watching the puzzled frown on the kid's face. He was chasing her, wasn't he? So she should be running, right? New thoughts crept into his mind as he slowly inched his way towards her.

Now they stood inches from the other. A classic duel. Weighing each other, tabulating lists of pros and cons. The dance had moved to a new playing field. He just wanted to pet her, maybe even hold her. But she was afraid, fearing the worst that this little child might do. Past memories of kicks and hurled stones whispered in the dark corners of her mind.

Yet there was the uncertainty of hope.

He reached out an unwavering hand, confident in his innocence.

With a hiss, she wiped a cruel paw at his advance and whizzed away. A pause and then the heart wrenching howl of anguish. He looked around to see if anybody had seen this wanton display of cruelty. There his mother sat with a faint smile. He ran and buried himself in the warmth of her legs. She picked him and looked deep in his eyes.

And staring back at her was an unspoken affirmation of the half-learned first lesson in the war of the sexes.