Out of nowhere he seemed to appear.
Tail hanging low, head bowed, vigilant eyes darting from left to right.
Young and stupid or old and desperate. One of those combinations had brought him to the point where he skulked between the houses on Jameston Road.
No longer his patch but rich with the history of his ancestors.
Their proud stomping ground, where legends were made.
Now home to the conqueror.
Gaunt, wary and fatigued - back to scavenge in a final tragic quest for scraps or defiantly re-claim what once belonged to his type.
This was ours - and it was great.