Thud.

Thud.

Pat.

The soft footfall of the panther could only be heard to the most expert of listeners as he stalked his prey. You would have to be expecting him in order to hear him. Which of course, no one was.

Rustle.

Rustle.

The panther suddenly stopped, afraid that his tan prey would hear the rustling of the leaves as he trekked across a vast jungle. The panther’s yellow eye’s glinted in the sun, but his prey continued to be unaware of his presence. Of course, the prey wouldn’t see him. The panther’s black fur and cleverly chosen hiding spot would shield him from his prey’s eyes, nose, and ears. It would go on, chattering, and waiting to die.

Thud.

The panther continued his journey. He was so close to his prey that he could reach out and swat it if he had to. His hunt was almost over, so he savoured every last second of it- the prey, the adrenaline, the sweet taste of almost success. It was a great feast, almost as great as when he ate his prey. His mouth watered.

So the mighty panther, king of the jungle, the fearsome predator, crouched down. He raised his hind legs, preparing to spring. This was always his favourite part of the hunt...the feeling of euphoria right before the leap...he took in one last breath...and sprang up and out with a mighty force. His claws and teeth snapped upon his prey, and it cried out,” Whiskers! Stop that!”

She kicked Whiskers with her foot, so he landed by the curtains that he was hiding in. Whiskers gave a short and irritated meow and stalked off, his tail flicking angrily. The woman’s husband asked her,” Do you think he misses the jungle? You know, the stalking, the prey.”

She scoffed,” The only trees he has ever seen are the ones in our backyard. He can’t miss what he never had. They stamped out all of those longings for hunting years ago when they domesticated cats.”

Her husband looked back at the cat, who was rubbing his back against the large and ugly vase painted with tropical flowers, tigers, and thick trees that his mother had given them for Christmas. Was it just him, or did the cat seem to look at it with the same longing he looked at maps and photos of Europe and Asia? Was it just him, or did the cat want to visit these places just as much as he did?

Come on, he told himself, It’s a cat. It can’t think like that.

Whiskers snapped his head toward him and stared at him with big, yellow eyes, before creeping into the depths of a shadowy corner.