The kill

It doesn't matter what time it is; it could be 3 A.M. or 4 in the afternoon. The time just does not matter. Once a day, he must kill. He must feel the life flee his victims' body, sink his teeth into the very heart of the beast, and end its uneventful life. At least once every day. He pounces upon the beast, it struggles to break free, but it simply cannot. The attacker sinks his claws into the beast and the beast struggles. It cannot fight back. The attacker is too strong. Alas, it gives into the creeping unconsciousness and surrenders to death. As the beast lets go of its last breath, it no longer feels the vicious claws twitching into its flesh or the razor sharp teeth at its throat. It feels only the blissfulness of slumber taking it away. The killer is pleased. The rush of adrenaline and ability to unleash his rage leaves him content. He stays with the body. Admiring it, caressing it; and lets the beautiful slumber take him to a peaceful rest.

Well, that's what Zeke thinks he's doing. The "beast"? My red fleece blanket, complete with white and pink hearts. Somehow it ended up being "his". Everyday he has to pretend it's his "kill". I think he just likes the feel of in his mouth, much like toddlers do. I myself had a blankie like many children. I loved the texture of it, rolling it between my fingers or on my lip. I always wonder what goes through his mind when he does it. He sure acts like he's killing it. He rolls it into a thick bundle and bites it, usually holding it down with his paws, which gently twitch into it. After the long "fight" and "struggle" he gets sleepy. Sometimes falling asleep with it in his mouth. If I interrupt him he squeaks like, "Momma nooooo! It's my kill. And I'm winning!" Or "Momma, I'm busy." Okay, kiddo. Have at it. Sometimes (I guess) after a long day of being Zeke, it's like he has to take out all his frustration on it, which is why I call it his kill. I love watching his little cheeks puff in and out as he holds onto the ratty thing. Cutest thing ever. So yes, my son has a blankie, and it is his kill.