Prowling through the shadows, unnoticed.
Listening to the fading sounds as daytime draws to a close.
Waiting for the right time to run across the deserted street, out of sight.
Now is the time.
Across the road. Up the kerb. Through the gate. Along the path.
Onto the doorstep.
Sit and wait.
Wait.
And sit.
The door creaks open slowly.
“There you…”
In.
Inside.
In the warmth.
By the fireside.
Lie.
Stretch.
Yawn.
Curl.
Purr.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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