I'm untanned, but cool. People may admire be, but I suck. At night I may be batty or hungry like a wolf.

I have faces but no expression. I bend light, but have no eyes. My angles , carefully arranged, dissect the spectrum in surprising guise. I can be triangular, hexagonal, or more, but my essence lies not in form, but in the rainbow I pour.

I wear a coat of many stripes, a mix of colors in my guise, on dogs and cats my pattern thrives, what am I?

Three syllables, a clue for each, so hear my shrill call as i screech: First is an old Texan’s term for a matron. Second, a ruler, a leader, a patron. Last is my class, i’m a fine feathered peer; All together, my voice might resemble a jeer

I orbit a planet, often with friends. I race down a track, through thin copper bends. I’m certainly small, but mighty in number. Jump from doorknobs to hands, or to earth before thunder