He walks and stalks at night with stealth,
When the air is quiet and still.
Who is this shadowy wraith “himself”
Who epitomises one’s free will?
He’s soft and cuddly during sunlight and showers
As he sleeps away the day,
But come the blanket darkness hours,
And he’s out hunting prey.
His senses sharp as razors
His silent body creeps.
His claws are lethal as razors,
As he slinks ‘tween cows and sheep.
To reach his destination
Of survival pure and plain.
It’s instinct not temptation,
When another life is slain.
So who is this phantom being
With mysterious eyes so green.
Who seemingly moves at random,
He often is not seen.
He is the one and only
The cat of history books.
Walking alone not lonely
However formed his looks.