Night Critter

There is a point when the world changes. There is not one world but two. While our lungs draw breath, we do not exist in the world called day. But when the world of light and man fades, our world rises, the world of night.

We emerge from the shadows; we ARE the shadows. Alone or in packs, we travel our world with impunity. Around every corner, a veritable feast awaits us, sealed in large plastic cylinders. Man makes them thicker, but our claws have yet to meet a true match. So confident are we, that we fear the artificial day less and less. A mild annoyance. Tonight is no different.

I am young, and bolder than my elders. I prowl while they still sleep. Rest is their weakness. I go where I want, when I want. I take what is mine. No man, nor construct of man, opposes me. Then I see them, the twin bright orbs, shattering my world around them. I fear this not. I do not run from their constructs. Even as I creep further into the leaves on the side of the road, the orbs slow, and I see the operator of the metal beast watching me. I budge not, returning his gaze with a steely one of my own. Go home, day-dweller, home to your artificial world. You don't belong here, and you look tired. Enter your box of light, and cease to exist in my primal reality.

I bet he was one of those “bloggers” I've been reading about in the papers some of my meals are wrapped in. Hey, maybe the loser will write about this when he gets home and try to tell the tale from my point of view. He probably thinks it will be clever, or as usual has little else of importance to say. People are so inexplicable sometimes. At least, for the next twelve hours, they're not the dominant species. Already I hear the rest of my clan stirring from their daily slumber. Come brothers, let us see what the cylinders hold for us tonight...