My silver fur,

steel burning bright.

It is the ashes of the sun.

Licked clean of dirt,

it covers my iron beauty.

Eyes, pools of sight,

singed with cobalt knowledge.

Pupils, a glimpse of the abyss,

calm before the storm.

Silence-sensors, you could call them.

Whiskers, sharp as murdering blades.

Protectors of my flamingo-pink nose,

another one of my priceless gems.

A rat-reaper you could call me,

I love watching the poor things scream,

sealing their fate, I bring out the knives.

Slash! Slash! Slash!

Blood stains my paws.