Sunday, September 18, 2011


He is golden in the sun, and in the night he is grey like all the others. His gaze is green, serene, and yet alert. He draws amber-stuff to himself; the sun's cousins dance upon his paws. If you see him in the light, he is banded gold and sunlight; if under the moon, silver and starlight.

There is quietude in his step; there is raucous abomination in his yowl. He is to us the fear that must be tamed, and never was. To say a woman is a dog is petty insult; to say she is a cat is something more.



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