The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.

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The fog, a mysterious presence, arrives ever so quietly,
Gently enveloping the world like a delicate embrace.
It takes the form of a cat, small and nimble,
Its paws soft, tiptoeing across the earthly space.

Perched high upon the harbor and city it rests,
Observing with an ethereal, vigilant gaze.
Unseen, yet all-seeing, it witnesses the life below,
A ghostly observer, in a tranquil, silent haze.

Its haunches are still, like statues of night,
A serene silhouette against the backdrop of dwellings.
No sound escapes its shadowy figure,
No disturbance arises wherever it is dwelling.

Soon, the feline fog proceeds on its way,
Leaving only a trace of dewy mist behind.
Its purpose unknown, its journey mysterious,
A transient visitor, to a realm undefined.

The harbor and city breathe a sigh of relief,
As the fog retreats, disappearing from sight.
But its presence lingers, an imprint on memory,
A reminder of enchantment in the midst of the night.

For the fog comes on little cat feet,
Its silent passage a dance of ephemeral grace.
Leaving us in awe of nature's wonders,
As it goes, leaving no trace.