Fate is a Cat

Fate is a cat.
She treads on silent paws,
Weaving through shadows
until she sees fit to strike,
then pounces with a focused gaze
Upon her helpless chosen prey.

Fate is a cat.
She may walk on
Unnoticed by our busy ears,
but leaves a mark of her prescence
in the shredded yarn, fallen vase,
Crashes one seldom hears
until they find catastrophe
And the world crashes down
on them.

Fate is a cat. 
She stretches out before the fire,
Eyes reflecting golden flames,
Tail flicking back and forth,
dancing in the strange parade.
Her whiskers glisten on the rug,
comfortable with danger near,
She'd rather be close to the war
than wait for trouble to appear.

Fate is a cat.
Purring contentedly,
Eyes half-closed,
she feels at ease even though
the world around her may be cruel,
Fate feels no need to weep or rue.
She leaves discontent to you,
watching flames dance across the world.
She does not care if human dreams
Soar high, or slowly scorch and burn.
Yet Fate is not solely cruel,
you may pass through her paws unscathed;
she may gently nudge you towards your path
Or choose to save you from disaster.

Fate is a cat. 
Her eyes gleam as stars
staring back at me,
her whiskers flicker
curiously.
What's my path?
I've yet to see.