A tale about fear, courage and the first breath.

 

“Oh! A kitten… Poor thing — so tiny, all wet, shaking with fear. Come here, don’t be scared, I’ll warm you.”

 

It hissed! I reached out my hand and it bristled, arched its back, pressed into the corner and tried to scratch.

 

“I only want to help… Why so scratchy? Look, a sausage…”

 

“Ow! It scratched me!”

 

How come? I meant well — with all my heart and even with a sausage!

And yet it fights like a little tiger. Nothing threatens it; it would be safe with me…

 

Let me try again—

 

“Aaah! Again! It bit me!”

 

I’m so upset. Why is it so hard to accept kindness? Anger, hurt — I could cry. Do I really look that scary, if even sausages don’t help?

 

So I sit and stare at this pitiful creature defending itself from my love… and I can’t help it. A lump in my throat. Tears spill from my eyes.

 

“Just stay nearby.”

 

“Oh! Who are you?”

 

She was calm. Kind eyes. A smile — like a mother’s over a cradle where a child sleeps peacefully. Behind her shone great wings. She unfolded them like a vast umbrella above me and the kitten — quite handy in the fine cold drizzle.

 

“I am Milariël, an Angel. A Mentor of Calling. I know the way.”

 

“What way? Am I supposed to go somewhere?”

 

“I know the way to peace and quiet of the soul. I help to find one’s calling and follow it.”

 

“How will that calm the kitten?”

 

“To give what wasn’t asked for, especially to someone full of fear and anger, is the wrong way.”

 

She folded her wings. Oh! The rain had stopped. The sun wasn’t out yet, but the sky already glimmered through a white mist. A little longer — and it would be another world, another mood.

 

The kitten stopped trembling. It stretched its thin neck toward the sausage, sniffing with a tiny nose.

 

“He wants to eat,” said Milariël, “but fear hasn’t let him go completely.”

 

“But I’m not threatening him!”

 

“He doesn’t fear you. He fears memories, pain, the unknown. His anger is a mask — beneath it, fear, helplessness, the inability to trust.”

 

“But I gave him a sausage!”

 

“That’s a kind step. But neither a person nor a sausage can take his fear away. He must do that himself — realize that things are different now, that goodness exists. There’s rain, and after it the sun. And yes, sausages too.”

 

We both laughed.

 

Look! The kitten took a cautious step, touched the sausage with its nose, licked it, looked at us — no one would take it — and then bit greedily with tiny teeth.

We watched tenderly as the piece disappeared, bit by bit.

 

“So it is with people. Sometimes you see a soul flailing, like a wild panther in a cage. It accepts nothing — no kindness, no food — seeing every offer as a threat. Then come claws, fangs, a snarl. It looks like pure evil.”

 

“I was scared too at first. So small, and so much rage!”

 

“Yes. Evil wears many faces. But each of them was once a trembling kitten — or the face of a defenceless child.”

 

Milariël stood over us, hands joined like a dome, eyes closed.

 

“Sometimes a soul bites out of fear — fear of being seen, of being vulnerable, weak, defenceless like this kitten. But if you stay near, without fear, it can learn to breathe.”

 

“Yes. All it took was to sit quietly beside him — and he calmed down. Sweetheart! I’ll take you home. You’ll like it there!”

 

“I don’t doubt it. You’ll be a wonderful support for this little life.”

 

“And you?”

 

“I’ll fly on. There are many who still need to learn how to be — how to choose their way.”

 

She lifted her face to the sun. A sweep of wings — the wind scattered puddles on the pavement. Another beat — and she was gone into the sky. There was no trace of rain left.