The red eye whisks across the floor, over the couch, up the wall. I’m watching, but won’t let on. A hunter must be stealthy.
Dart. Dash. Dance. The red eye teases me.
I am patience itself.
My muscles tense, my tail twitches—once only—but the youngling pounces. The red eye escapes her grasp; she follows, it flies. Tiny ball of fur and energy. Too eager. Impatient cub. The red eye runs. I wait.
The youngling founders.
My claws open, their sharpness fed. The red eye is destroyed. Victory.
Watch this hunter and learn.