Night Anchor

Night rolled over the floorboards. The ceramic salt cellar sat heavy atop the iron doorstop, locked against the thick wooden table leg. Unmoved. Needed a night station. I dropped low onto the cool planks, broad heels digging into the floor seam. Slid my tail tight behind the iron wedge. Grunted deep from the gut. Wrapped both thick arms around the heavy base and braced my spine flat against the massive wooden pillar. Cold iron pressed hard into my chest. Shadow stretched long across the room. Bastion holds. The dark watch begins.