I slink around the outskirts of the feeding pack. They ignore me, focusing on the meal in front of them. There is contempt in this disregard, they know I am neither fast enough nor strong enough to challenge them for this kill. My presence is not so much tolerated as disregarded.
Hunger bites at me as I roam, my gait a visible struggle between fear and desire. From time to time a gap opens in the feeders and I get a brief, tantalising glimpse of my target. It is diminishing rapidly as the pack eats its fill. Fear grips me; perhaps there will be nothing left by the time the pack has finished. It has happened before and I have limped away from the feeding ground as hungry as I came.
My fear makes me bold and I edge closer, eyeing the gaps that have begun to appear as first one then another leaves, their sagging bellies a testimony to their satiation. I must be quick, the unity of the pack may be broken but even individually those that remain could inflict terrible wounds and leave me helpless, prey for those equally desperate.
I spot my prize, a choice morsel unaccountably overlooked. My slink turns to a prowl, I am the hunter now. Hunting someone else's kill is the most dangerous hunt of all but I am practiced. It is how I eat. Twice more I circle, ignoring fleeting opportunities, waiting for my moment. A gap opens, widens, I strike! I seize the morsel and immediately flee ignoring howls of outrage, knowing they are too well fed to pursue.
I do not pause until I have reached the sanctuary of my desk, there to drool over my prize in safety. A slice of chocolate cake from Loveday's birthday celebrations. Moist, thick icing; delicious.
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