So after I uploaded yesterday's photo, I had a bit of a brain-wave about a story-seed I planted a few years back, with the working title The Breath Stealer. The premise was that cats do, indeed, steal the breath of babies (thereby killing them), but only babies that are fated to grow up evil. I never shared it on here, until now:
When I was very small, eyes still blue and fur still tufted into ridiculous spikes, I lost a brother to a hawk. I don't remember much of him- I'd only known him a few weeks, after all, and then primarily as a competitor for the most free-flowing of my mother's teats. What I remember quite clearly, however, was how my mother mourned for him. There were six of us left in the litter, six tiny lives to love and care for, but still she cried for the one who had been taken. Sometimes, in my most private nightmares, I hear her crying still, but it wasn't the hawk who killed her baby-
It was me.
There was a bit more, but that was the hook. At any rate, that's been percolating in the back of my mind for, as I said, a few years, until yesterday when I posted that photo of Krumps and suddenly thought, "But what if, this time, the Cat chooses not to kill the child, but instead to attempt to rewrite it's fate?" which lead me down the rabbit hole of the Cat trying to raise a tiny sociopath to be a force for good rather than evil, and the hilarity that might ensue from that.