Sitting by the frog pond
In the cool moonlight
Of a summer's eve,
Listening to the nocturnal croaks
From the bullrushes,
I wait for my prey,
Silently.

A movement spied, and I leap and
The slimy creature is in my grasp.
See! With an elegant paw-flick,
It sails through the air
To land where my waiting claws
Are ready for fun and games.
For me, anyway.

I settle down to hours of pleasure,
Teasing and tapping and jabbing,
Watching forlorn attempts
To escape from hapless doom,
Dancing for me under the moon,
Growing weaker by the minute.
Such joy.

I become bored by the game -l
How many dance steps does a frog know?
It's time for the long-awaited
Coup de grace, a sharp savage nip
To the neck and thus swift anuran death,
And I take a souvenir home for Mummy.
She seems to prefer them
With the head on.