Patient quiet shadowed, still.
Not blink, but glide wet eyes.
My whiskers sing electric song
and muscles ripple as claws
give flex, in deep forever breath.
A present, payment for my board.
Fresh meat for the clumsy,
They that cannot hunt.
While I eat flies and wasps that sting.
Pain is fine its just a thing.
So busy grooming, hunting
and holding my lands.
I sleep where I want
and how I please.
I have no master.
Under sun, on soil
paper or wool,
its all the one to me.
And to those too big
to hunt and kill,
I spread my scent.
This meat is mine.
©️ Dai Fry May 6th 2020.