As the evening sets on Brewery Yard,
With orange yellow glow,
The Master makes his rounds,
Through the terraced row.
He slinks on through
The open doors
As king of the yard
He walks the floors.
Not a care, not a thought,
No approval is sought
The black and white feline frame
Never ever will you tame.
Proud predictory precious paws
Wondering the the open doors.
You may spy him where your sat
The master of the yard! Scooter cat.