Golden Ginger Persian Cat (Terzanelle) Poem by Gert Strydom

You walk right up to me
with your striped tail in the air,
a hunter to the nth degree

with golden ginger hair,
you become a machine with claws and slim curves,
with your striped tail in the air

at the ready with nerves
at a razor’s edge,
you become a machine with claws and slim curves,

suddenly with electricity, sneaking up to the hedge
staring intently, ready to strike
at a razor’s edge,

waiting patiently like a shrike
with poise
staring intently, ready to strike

loosing interest and without any noise
you walk right up to me
with poise,
a hunter to the nth degree.