What is the point of living in a world of cattle, if not to be a predator?
Rhetorical question; in a world of food which lives to be consumed, there is no real life but to hunt, to stalk and devour. But be careful, predator, for these cattle are owned, held and controlled by the shepherd who would live on their fat, slowly extracting their wealth for himself, and he will not tolerate you to pilfer his flock with impunity. So you must be stealthy, clever, acting at night where the shepherd's eyes fail him, and strike where he cannot see you, retreating quickly after into the shadows where he cannot chase you, for fear of his own neck. Be careful, predator, and you may in a hundred little slaughters thin the herd at your leisure, taking even the choicest of morsels and leaving the gristle to taunt he who would try to keep you from your meal. Walk among them, be indecipherable in daylight, invisible to his gaze and his crook, and come night you pounce.
Let your appetite run wild, until the very herd riles with fear, bellowing and stamping at their pens, lashing against the shepherd and escaping into the wild. But no matter how much of the shepherd's wealth you destroy, you will not be content, no, your thirst will not slacken and you will not resist the hunt, the thrill of red blood. You will swallow every fatted calf, every luxury that he would keep for himself, as a supreme and savage animal.
You might pick on the weak, the infirm, if you were lazier, more desperate, but no, not you, predator. You live for the hunt, the stalking and the final leap. So you plan after only the very dearest of the herd, its strongest and healthiest, which still dumb and pacified are prey before your teeth. Neglecting all the easier fringes, you slink into the heart of them and pluck a fat one, then vanish with it still squealing. That is how you prove yourself, and know you are still alive, exalting in your natural dominance over the lesser creatures, and forever frustrating the shepherd. He thinks to control the animals, to sequester them, to drive you off with torches and the cracking crook; no. You haunt his sleep, and your howl puts ice into his veins, making him tremble with the onset of loss. No fence can keep you out, no pen may be secured from you. You are too able; you will not be kept from your prey. They live to be taken, and you live to devour, and nothing will obstruct this relationship but be subverted.
So you lurk in places overlooked, polishing the tools of your trade so that an instant is lethal, however bloody. Then, in opportunity or careful planning, you take what is yours. Remember this, predator. Nothing belongs to them, not the cattle to the shepherd nor the lives to the cattle; these are yours by might to take, as many and as great as you please. You, your hunger, will be the only indomitable law in this world, while so many remain prey, easily taken.
Cattle do not have rights, things which cannot be taken from them. They have no sovereignty even over themselves, and that renders them animals, to be used for your purpose. The shepherd thinks himself smart to pen them and keep them docile, exploiting this, but you are craftier. You know that no matter where they graze, no matter where their pen, they will remain animals, as easily taken by anyone with sufficient drive. You can beguile them, entice them out; wait in the shadows, surprise them; overpower them outright. It does not matter what means you use, as an alpha predator, so long as in the end you satisfy your thirst. They are tools, fodder to that end, and while they fear you, they have no means to resist you, and are easily separated from that which they hold dear. And so easily used, then spent, to be tossed aside, while so many remain. Let them cower, let them scream, if it please you; still how little they fight you. In the end, you remain dominant, predator, never forget that. You will not forget the thirst, you will not forget the hunt, while the smell of easy prey is so rich in the air. Go, and do as you know.