In a shiver of fear, a possum lies as doggo as Juliet, Exuding the sour reek of gastric distress. Eventually, though, sensing less danger, It banks the smell and scurries off. A chameleon, magical as Rembrandt, paints itself To blend into whatever it's next to. A squid, like a pierced cartridge of CO2 Whooshes away, under the cover of inky clouds. And humans, quite sure they're secure, Garrisoned behind safe room walls, Smugly think they've blunted a bloodhound's senses And feel somehow safe. But the possum, feigning death too often, May not be as careful this time, as last. Or maybe a squid's ink thins a bit, Too flimsy a veil now to cover escape. Or a chameleon's palate of camo colors May lack some hues for blending well. And surely a hound, that bays at our walls, Will alert the one who holds his leash That someone's in there. It's better to hope a more toothsome prey Will distract our pursuers.