Snatcher the Cat, who's blacker than black,
Goes hunting on moonless nights.
Like a slippery shadow on soft padded feet,
Wrapped in darkness so tight.

Out of the cat door and onto the grass,
Not a sound, not a scratch or a scrape.
It’s only the stars that know that he’s there,
And they¹re silent at Snatchers escape.

All through the flowers to the foot of the wall
Where he pauses and looks at the sky,
And just for a moment two burning white stars
Like icefire shine in his eyes.

He¹s grown very wise has Snatcher the Cat,
And he won¹t take a nestling or mouse.
He knows that the people he owns would be angry,
And he likes to have them in his house.

So Snatcher the Cat has become very good
At catching the neighbourhood rats.
Big ones or small ones, grey, brown or black,
Our Snatcher is no fussy cat.

But luck is not with him this cold, silent night
Though he patiently hunts until dawn.
So he pads softly home in the whispering haze
To sleep ‘til the new night is born.