Behind my head, paws in my hair,
Hunter the cat lays dreaming there.
Every so often he starts combing,
purring while he thinks of roaming.
The life of a wild cat would be grand.

All the world's mice to chase and eat.
Around the town he'd govern the street.
A nimble strategy Hunter would employ,
to capture a beetle or moth, some scrumptious toy.
But, where would he look for an ear-scratching hand?

Hunter, the cat is really a genius.
He understands exactly just what he needs.
Tis why never a fairy-tale shall come between us-
why never this puss-in-boots does evil deeds.
The life of a pet cat is just as grand.

Every morning Hunter is cuddled warm.
When he is hungry food is provided.
His fur is never mussed in a rainy wind storm.
He receives special treats when he has delighted.
Hunter never suffers at a human hand.

Although whether wild or pet Hunter does not choose.
His purring cuddles I'd loathe to lose.