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Stretched flat on the hearth-rug, she’s out like a light -
No wonder she’s tired after hunting all night!

A tiger, she stalks through her moonlit estate,
The long grass her cover, leaf shadows her bait.
To pounce on her quarry, on carnage she’s bent,
Coiled like a spring, absolutely intent.
One flick of the tail and she’s launched the attack;
She streaks through the undergrowth, hot on the track.
Those front claws, ensheathed as limp-wristed she sleeps,
Are brandished like weapons aloft when she leaps.
No, she’s missed by a mile, so with great nonchalance
She washes intently until the next chance.

When the morning arrives, she’ll be there at the door
Waiting to see if it’s there on the floor,
The bowl where the food just arrives from on high -
A source of provision that never runs dry.
The hunt was so arduous, she gulps the food in -
So much easier to catch when it comes in a tin!

A predator, prowling her way through the night,
By day just a moggy, she’s out like a light!



Latou                  1996

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