Streetlamps cast a glow
On this night-time show,
A cat roams the streets
Saying meow to every cat she meets
Going through the motions of defeats.
For tonight food is not to be found,
The food that would make her sleep sound.
She struggles on,
Pity that butcher’s is gone.
Scraps were usually present there
And she hadn’t in the world a care.
Tonight her paws feel rough
But she has to be tough.
Survival is her middle name,
Making it happen is her game.
She must keep looking for the prize
In the middle of her tired sighs.
A new skip looms from afar
Like a shining bright star.