The Scottish Wild Cat.
Stone fur blows softly,
rippling down the cat’s anguished face.
Streaks of death ripple down its back,
strong and defined.
Its tentative ears ***** up,
sensing storms and dead souls.
Silky fur pokes out, slim and innocent.
The cat stares.
Blinking jade eyes burn into the atmosphere,
disintegrating hope, lighting tension.
Wiry cream whiskers curl their way around her face,
like ivy clinging onto a fence.
Then, dagger like teeth raise into the air,
as a hair lifting yowl rips the sky in half.
Seeing no hope, she curls into a tight ball,
ignoring the bone white van walls around her.