My brother just got a cat. I guess kitten would be a more appropriate word based on his size, but he's terrorizing the house enough that I thought I'd upgrade his status to full-fledged cat. He's earned it. The funny thing about the little guy is that he thinks he's huge. I bet if you could get inside his brain, he'd be thinking that he's a lion stalking his prey in the open African plains, and not a house cat biting toes when the owner of said toes is trying to watch TV or do his writing for the day. He thinks he's ferocious. I think he's tiny and easily thrown out of my room.
I do find myself thinking a bit about his bigger than himself attitude though. You just know that he thinks of himself as a jungle cat, one that has to hunt to survive and defend himself at all costs. And it's not because there's any evidence to that. He has food set out for him. He's never attacked. It's only because he's young.
We come into the world in a similar way. If you would've asked me what I was growing into when I was a kid, I would've told you an NBA star. I was going to be the next Detroit Piston. I wrote plays in class. I played ball during recess. I even had a Pistons jersey. I mean, come on, that's a future NBA legend in the making right there.
I haven't played basketball in months. I don't even think about it most days because I spent most of my high school basketball career sitting on a bench. We don't come into this world house cats. We're just domesticated over time.
Every little kid is an artist in some way. Every one has a novel or a painting or a film or a cure for cancer inside of them, and it's us adults who tell them to dream a little smaller. To not get hurt by aiming for greatness and ultimately failing. To focus on making a comfortable living instead of living outside of their comfort zones.
We do a great disservice to ourselves and the rest of the world by squashing the dreams of our dreamers. A house cat has its place, but it'll never roar like a lion would.