Moonlight flowing in through the windows sets her back to bristling. She 
flicks her ears, feeling a sudden urge to grumble, to growl or roar, announce 
herself to the night, declare her dominion over the city, but she resists, 
keeping her silence. That’s the smart thing to do. Discontented, Tikki stretches
and yawns and drops belly-first onto the mattress. On a night like tonight, when 
the moon fills the night and her predator’s soul yearns to run wild and free,
she should be out in the wild somewhere, in the dark reaches of some primitive 
land, like the woodlands near Seattle, or the forests and river valleys of 
Manchuria and southeast Siberia.... Stalking.... Hunting.... rising out
of the brush around some waterhole... striking like lightning.... Silent
and swift.... Bringing down prey...