I come in many forms, though my purpose is the same. Some let you escape, some will end the game. Live ones grant mercy, another day spared. Quick-kill ones are kinder, when death is declared. Glue should be avoided, a measure of last resort, and a prowling house cat is nature’s own sort.

I drift where clouds and birds might play, a skyborne craft that floats all day. Not a plane, nor quite a blimp, my shadow moves without a limp.

Whispers from Pandora's box, a fire that fuels the stars and a cat's nine lives, ever seeking the unknown paths, yet not a single door will ever close. Also, it killed the cat...

Where sea kisses land, Waves embrace in gentle dance, Nature's edge unfolds.

Feed me and I live. Give me drink and I die. What am I?