When I was young, on a camping trip near a clay cliff-ringed lake, I stumbled upon a field of wild grasses full of wild bunnies. And after a moment of awe and thrill, I knew what I wanted:
I was going to coax one of these wild rabbits into my arms.
Some real Snow White shit, as one sub told me.
First, I made my way back to the campsite for a box of cereal. Then, I retraced my steps. And I settled in on my belly in that bug-buzzing field with my box of cereal and my plan.
I tossed some cereal to the nearest bunny, and I waited.
It took it.
And so began a long, slow dance. Cereal tossed to the nearest bunnies as they took each piece, considered each hop toward me, got used to me as part of the landscape and as a source of something delicious.
I don’t remember how long it took, only that I was committed.
To bringing that bunny ever closer. Until it let me pet it. So soft, so sweet. And then let me lift it into my arms.
However long it took, I reached that goal. I lifted that little fuzzbucket into my arms and fed it as much cereal as it could handle. And it was happy to rest there with me. To be warm and safe and full bellied until I released it back into the field with its fellows.
I told a sub this story and asked him how it made him feel.
Hunted, he said.
In a good way, he said.
And now I tell you.
When you see me say here kitty, kitty, kitty, or here, little bunny, know that I am patient. That I am waiting. That there are treats here and a warm pair of arms. That you are hunted, but that being caught feels oh so very good.
And when I say caught, I mean that you will willingly take the tossed treat, then the next one, then the next one, until you are sleepy and have a full belly and slip lightly into my arms.
And oh how it feels better here, safe and held and caught.
Take whatever time you need, bunny. The truth is you’re already mine. And all it takes to feel the relief of it is the barest hint of a step. The simple words, I’m yours.
Don’t be surprised when I answer: I know.