Intimacy of everyday life

The blood gave Puma what he craved,

that warm connection,

that deeper resonance

the end of a ritual.

the flow from a raw, umbilical cord,

roots

There was, of course, the fur,

the light fluffy stuff.

It was claws that built a bridge between them,

it was sinking teeth in flesh that released the duende,

way beyond play.

It was the same for the bunny,

it was the same for the rabbit,

only this time the rabbit was fed up of being called a bunny.

The rabbit wasn’t cute,

the rabbit wasn’t Flopsy Mopsy or Cottontail.

The rabbit had feelings too.

personified,

objectified,

infantilised.

There’s more to a rabbit than a cuddly thing for children.

If you could get close to a rabbit, you’d meet the animal within,

an animal with teeth,

an animal with family

an animal with ties,

an animal that doesn’t live in cottonwool

has enemies,

is preyed upon,

and is a killer.

Oh yes, rabbits kill cabbages.

So when Puma the cat met the rabbit outside,

there was a deep connection within,

Desire,

the sort of desire a tiger has,

the sort of lust a jaguar has,

the sort of appetite every self-respecting big cat has.

Fear,

the sort of thrill running for your life gives you.

A wildebeest across the savanna,

the ancestors of the rabbits ran free for their lives.

No half-life here,

no cuddly wuddly bunny.

Blood,

flesh,

even the fur mattered

in the utility room that night,

It was the intimacy of everyday life