Quiet as night, like a man with a fear,
The hunter glides by so his prey can not bear.
Around the corner as slow as a snail,
Making sure he's not seen, not even his tail,
His ears go up what does he hear,
His target is moving, quickly and near.
And then without warning, his claws retract,
So he can give a deadly smack.
With a speel of lightening, this beast he does spring
Hoping to catch this new found thing.
And as he comes down with a thunderous clap
And bites it down with a thunderous snap!
And tears it apart with all his might
Since this prey can not give a fight.
A ball of string is the prey in this story,
And a cat is the hunter in all his glory.
The cat is proud; this is true,
But if you caught some string, wouldn't you,--