The Midnight Hunter

After darkness falls and our little girl has been put to bed, a hunter comes out of the woodwork in our rec room. She's a furry black creature.  Her weapon is not a rifle, it's not a club, it's not a knife:  her only weapon is her stealth.  She finds a hiding place on a book shelf or behind the TV or in a box.  Then she lies in wait, ready to pounce, her green eyes penetrating the darkness.  At the appropriate time, she leaps out, and makes her attack.  The victim is not a bird or a pheasant or a bear:  it's a mouse made out of velvet; it's a little red ball; it's a slender gray string.  Tonight it was one of Jacqueline's stuffies named Silly Billy which the hunter wrestled to the ground and then left for dead.  She propels herself across the room so fast that your head spins.  She keeps hunting until Daddy says "Settle down, Midnight."  Then she climbs up on the couch, cuddles up against us and falls asleep.  Sleep tight, Midnight!



Photo courtesy www.cats-fun.com.