The **** like a panther prowls,
He hides in nooks and crannies,
Where he views his prey for hours,
With keen eyes fixed like trannies.
A playful pounce, may announce,
His attention to a need,
To catch a bird or little mouse,
With agility and speed.

The instinct never fails to serve,
Though doubtful he will eat,
Today's domestic feline verve,
Leaves dead birds at our feet.
To seek and **** with great prowess,
Is naturally on his mind,
With silent paws and callousness,
He will hunt until the find.

After a busy day stalking,
Gathering his stock,
Tired of all the walking,
He'll look at what he's got,
Then curl up by the fire,
Stretch his crawls and preen his fur,
Of his routine he'll never tire,
And he never forgets to purr.

Tomorrow through the flap,
A territory to mark,
No need for a map to set his evil trap,
Even when it's dark.
The underworld of cats,
Is here with us to stay,
Not always sat on mats,
He's out killing easy prey.