Out of the Blue

Paws, so elegant, as they race
His mind, quite focused, on that little heart beat
He might just take this life, leaving not a trace
Of this little game he plays, oh, what a treat

He will crouch beneath the chair each morn
Spending hours,watching, waiting, listening to the world
This devilish little mind of his is never torn
A rabbit, a bird, contemplations in his mind have swirled

A flicker, a dash and it has caught his attention
He leaps and lands on his unsuspecting victim
This, he thinks, will be his pension
Always, he uses the same spontaneous system

And up the stairs he trots to the door
Tomorrow there could be dead bodies galore

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